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SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 



SEEING THE 
SUNNY SOUTH 



BY 

JOHN T. FARIS 

AUTHOR OF "seeing PENNSYLVANIA," "SEEING THE FAR WEST," ETC. 

WITH FRONTISPIECE IN COLOR 
AND 115 DOUBLETONE ILLUSTRATIONS 




PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 

1921 



F2. 



1 r" 
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COPTRIGnX, I92I. BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 



DEC 15 192! 



PRINTED BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 

AT THE WASHINGTON SQUARE PRESS 

PHILADELPHIA, U. S. A. 



g)ClA653l02 



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FOREWORD 

WE have not yet waked up to the realization 
of the tremendous asset the South is to the 
United States. In a vague sort of way, of 
course, the average man realizes that the territory 
below the Mason and Dixon Line is wonderful. But 
how wonderful? 

The South is wonderful in area. One-third of the 
territory of the country is included in the South, and 
the states in this area have three-fifths of the coast line 
of the United States. 

The South is wonderful in resources. It has been 
calculated that one-fourth of the country's coal, one- 
third of the iron ore and seven-tenths of the forested 
area are there. Over half the timber production of the 
country and all but the least bit of the cotton grown 
are credited to it. In water power it is rich ; its phos- 
phate rocks furnish practically the country's sole 
supply of a product all-important to the agriculturist ; 
its petroleum and natural-gas wells are the wonder of 
the world ; in the production of aluminum and graphite, 
fuller's earth and sulphur, as well as a number of other 
essentials, it stands almost alone. Peanuts and cane 
sugar, sweet potatoes and rice, spring vegetables and 
sorghum, peaches and citrus fruits are among its claims 
to the attention of those who need to fill the market 
basket. One of the country's leading chemists said, in 
an address delivered in 1919: **No one with a capacity 

3 



FOREWORD 

to understand their true significance can review the co- 
lossal figures which set forth the natural resources of 
the South without first being stunned and overwhelmed, 
and soon thereafter filled with the vision of their stu- 
pendous possibilities." 

The South is wonderful in climate. Both in sum- 
mer and in winter may one find sections of it delightful, 
and in winter even California must take off its hat to 
Florida and the Gulf Coast. One who discovered by 
thorough-going experience the climatic advantages of 
Florida said, ' ' The only difficulty with Florida is that 
there is only one of it, and in the future years it will 
be so overcrowded that there will not be room enough 
for the people who will want to flock there." But let 
these people take comfort — Georgia and Alabama, 
Louisiana and Texas, as well as states still farther 
north, have weather revelations that will surprise 
the visitor. 

Natural resources and climate should satisfy any 
reasonable country. But the South does not need to 
rest content with these possessions. For that favored 
region is rich also in scenery that is amazingly varied 
and attractive — mountains that reach the clouds; 
rivers that leap and foam as well as rivers that pursue 
their way in placid unconcern ; lakes and springs, bays 
and islands, forests and valleys. It is almost easier 
to give a catalogue of what is not to be found there 
than of what may be seen by anyone ^^dth open eyes. 

And what abundant ways there are to see the won- 
ders of this enchanted land! Ever^'Avhere there are 
railroads — the well-known through lines, as well as 
short lines that pierce the heart of the mountains, glide 
along by the rivers, or cross the uplands. There is 
4 



FOREWORD 

abundant variety for those who would travel by rail, 
and fortunate is the traveler who can wander first 
along one line, and then can choose another and an- 
other and yet another. He may take so many of them 
that he will be apt to think he has really seen the 
Sunny South by rail. He'll find his error when he 
makes a study of the roads he hasn't been able to take. 

But somehow the visions afforded by the railroad 
do not always satisfy ; the traveler w^ants to go far from 
the right of way where, as one nature-lover has pointed 
out, the black clouds of smoke from the freight engines 
have destroyed many fine areas of woodland, noxious 
gases have interfered with the beauty of the shrubbery, 
and even the washing down of the acids from the smoke- 
laden air to the roots of the plants has had its effect 
on the foliage near the rails. 

For all this the railroad is dependable, and the 
traveler through the South clings to it. But it is so 
set in its ways. It says so positively : ' ' This is the way 
you shall go. No, you cannot stop and pick flowers; 
you must not pause a moment to look at the other side 
of that attractive house ; you must not presume to do 
anything that the time-table does not permit." 

What a contrast the automobile is! It is so easy- 
going. You can see up, down, and around, and not 
simply through a narrow window. If the mood takes 
you, you can go up a side road. You can loiter or you 
can hurry on. You can see a house, a tree, an orchard, 
a garden or anything you want. The car is so human. 

Yes, it is good to take the automobile. But it is fine 
to have the railroad at hand — especially in places 
where no one has yet seen fit to make a dependable 
road, or where such a road cannot well be made, or 

6 



FOREWORD 

where it is absolutely necessary to cover more territory 
in a given time than can be done with the car. 

Some tourists try to combine the car and the rail- 
road on the same trip. ''I'll take the car, and when the 
roads get too bad, I'll leave it in a garage, or ship it 
ahead, then use the train," somebody says when set- 
ting out from home. But the result is usually to keep 
to the car, no matter what the roads. 

The author is indebted to many courteous friends 
who have helped him carry out his delightful program 
of Seeing the Sunny South, especially to Rev. William 
F. Klein, of Reading, Pennsylvania, in whose company 
the pilgrimage through the Valley of Virginia, over 
to Luray Caverns, and down to the National Bridge 
was made. 

J. T. F. 
Philadelphia, April, 1921 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER PAGE 

I. THE APPEALING VALLEY OF VIRGINL^ 17 

II. ALONG MARYLAND'S VALLEY OF DREAMS 34 

III. THE EASTERN SHORE AND THE CHESAPEAKE. 42 

rV. UP THE WINDING JAMES 60 

V. THROUGH THE HEART OF NORTH CAROLINA. . 60 

VI. THE LAND OF THE SKY 68 

VII. THE VARIED CAROLINA COAST COUNTRY 84 

VIII. WHERE FLOWS THE CHATTAHOOCHEE 93 

IX. ALONG THE SAVANNAH RIVER 101 

X. IN THE HEART OF GEORGIA 108 

XL IN GEORGIA'S LAND OF WONDERS 114 

XII. FROM JACKSONVILLE TO ST. AUGUSTINE 120 

Xin. ON FLORIDA'S HALIFAX RIVER 128 

XrV. TO PALM BEACH AND BEYOND 134 

XV. MIAMI, THE MAGIC CITY 142 

XVI. IN THE FLORIDA EVERGLADES 148 

XVII. WITH ROD AND GUN IN FLORIDA WATERS .... 151 

XVIII. ON THE WEST COAST OF FLORIDA 156 

XIX. IN THE INTERIOR OF FLORIDA 162 

XX. IN WEST FLORIDA 168 

XXL ROUND ABOUT MOBILE 175 

XXII. UP NORTH AND DOWN SOUTH IN ALABAMA ... 183 

XXm. IN THE SHADOW OF BIRMINGHAM'S RED 

MOUNTAIN 194 

XXIV. THROUGH TENNESSEE AND NORTH ALABAMA 

BY RIVER 201 

XXV. GLIMPSES OF FERTILE MISSISSIPPI 221 

7 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTXB PAQB 

XXVI. TRIANGULATING LOUISIANA 228 

XXVII. IN THE LAND OF HOUSTON 242 

XXVIII. DOWN IN ARKANSAS 255 

XXIX. IN AND OUT OF LOUISVILLE 261 

XXX. DOWN THROUGH THE BLUE GRASS 267 

XXXI. AMONG THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAINS 274 

XXXII. FOLLOWING WEST VIRGINIA'S RUSHING RIVERS 278 

XXXIII. ROMANCE ON AN ISLAND 293 

XXXIV. IN THE PANHANDLE OF WEST VIRGINLV 299 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

The Oldest House in St. Augustine, Florida Frontispiece 

From a painting by Edward Stratton Eolloway 

In the Cathedral, Luray Caverns, Virginia 26 

From a photo, copyright, by J. D. Strickler 

Natural Bridge, Virginia 27 

Photo from United States Geological Survey. 

On the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal 38 

Photo from Robert Bruce, Clinton, New York. 

Harper's Ferry, Virguiia 39 

Photo from Eugene J. Hall, Oak Park, Illinois. 

Along Chesapeake Bay ^ '. 42 

Main and Grant Streets, Norfolk, Virginia 43 

Photo by Acme Photo Co., Norfolk. 

Mount Vernon, Virginia 46 

Photo from H. P. Cook, Richmond, Virginia. 

The United States Capitol at Washmgton, D. C 47 

Photo from Eugene J. Hall. 

In the Heart of Baltimore, Maryland 48 

Photo by Frederick F. Frittita, Baltimore. 

A Chesapeake Beacon 49 

Wind-Blown Chesapeake Sands 49 

Chief Justice Marshall's Home, Richmond, Virginia 52 

Photo from H. P. Cook. 

The Old Court House at WiUiamsburg, Virginia 52 

Photo from H. P. Cook. 

James River and Commonwealth Hill, Virginia 53 

Photo from United States Geological Survey. 

Monticello, near Charlottesville, Virginia 56 

Photo from H. P. Cook. 

Three Sisters Mountains, Virginia 56 

Photo from United States Forest Service. 

"The Old Cabm Home" 62 

Razor Back Hogs in North Carolina 62 

"Green Slopes and Pleasant Valleys" 63 

Photo from United States Forest Service. 

Timber on the East Slope of Hughes Ridge, North Carolina 70 

Photo from United States Forest Service. 

9 



10 ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAQI 

On the French Broad River, North Carolina 78 

Photo from United States Geological Survey. 

Speedwell Valley, North Carolina 78 

Photo from United States Foreat Service. 

Chimney Rock, North Carolina 79 

Photo by H. W. Pelton. 

Devil's Head, North Carolina 79 

Photo, copyright, by H. W. Pelton 

Pack Square, Ashe ville, North Carolina 82 

Photo by H. W. Pelton. 

Richland Valley, North Carolina 83 

Photo from United States Forest Service. 

Cypress Trees, Lake Drummond, Virginia 84 

Photo from United States Geological Survey. 

Southern Margin of Lake Drummond, Virginia 84 

Photo from United States Geological Survey. 

Fort Sumter, Charleston, South Carohna 90 

Photo from Southern Railway. 

Elntrance to the Devereux Home, Charleston, South Carolina 90 

Photo from Southern Railway. 

St. Michael's Church, Charleston, South Carolina 91 

St. Phihp's Church, Charleston, South Carolina 91 

Photo from Southern Railway. 

The Battery, Charleston, South Carolina 92 

Photo by Clarke, Charleston. 

Chattooga River^ Georgia 94 

Photo from Umted States Geological Survey. 

Tallulah Falls, Georgia 95 

Photo from United States Forest Service. 

In the Heart of Atlanta, Georgia 98 

Photo by Francis F. Price. 

Stone Mountain, Georgia 99 

Photo from United States Geological Survey. 

The Independent Presbyterian Church, Savannah, Georgia 106 

Photo from Hoffman's Art Studios, Savannah. 

On the Turpentine Docks, Savannah, Georgia 107 

Photo from United States Forest Service. 

The Home of Sidney Lanier, Macon, Georgia 110 

Photo from Macon Chamber of Commerce. 

Negro Cabin at a Georgia Turpentine Still 110 

Photo from United States Forest Service. 

Along a Country Road in Georgia Ill 

Photo from United States Forest Service. 

Chase Prairie, Okefinokee Swamp, Georgia 116 

Photo by Francis Harper; by courtesy of American Museum of Natural 
History, New York. 



ILLUSTRATIONS 11 

PAGB 

Hotel Ponce de Le6n, St. Augustine, Florida 124 

"The Oldest House" in St. Augustine, Florida 125 

Within the Walls of Fort Marion, St. Augustine, Florida 126 

The Old City Gates, St. Augustine, Florida 126 

Daytona Beach, Florida 130 

Photo from Daytona Chamber of Commerce. 

New Smyrna Drive, Florida 131 

Ruins of Old Sugar Mill, near Daytona, Florida 132 

On the HaUfax River, Florida 132 

Glimpse of the Royal Poinciana Hotel, Palm Beach, Florida 136 

Photo from "Winter Journeys in the South," by courtesy of John Martin 
Hammond. 

Golf Links, on the Shore of Lake Worth, Palm Beach, Florida 137 

Overseas to Key West, Florida 140 

Photo from Florida East Coast Railroad. 

A Key West Residence District 140 

Photo from Florida East Coast Railroad 

Miami, Florida, from the Air 142 

Photo by R. W. Harrison, Miami. 

On the Beach, near Miami, Florida 143 

Photo by R. W. Harrison. 

At Cocoanut Grove, Florida 146 

Photo by R. W. Harrison. 

Arch Spring Natural Bridge, near Miami, Florida 146 

Seminole Indians in the Everglades 148 

Photo by R. W. Harrison. 

In the Everglades 148 

Road Building Across the Everglades 149 

Photo by R. W. Harrison. 

Drainage Canals in the Everglades 149 

Photo by R. W. Harrison. 

On Miami River, Florida 152 

Their Day's Catch 152 

Photo by R. W. Harrison. 

On Bayshore Drive, Tampa, Florida 156 

Photo from Chamber of Commerce, Tampa. 

In Plant Park, Tampa, Florida 156 

Photo from Chamber of Commerce. 

On the Picturesque Tomoka River, Florida 166 

The Sprawling Mangrove Trees, Florida 166 

Mailboat on Gamier 's Bayou, Florida National Forest 170 

Photo from United States Forest Service. 



18 ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAOB 

Santa Rosa Island, Florida National Forest 170 

Photo from United States Forest Service. 
Lower Government Street, Mobile, Alabama 180 

Photo from Mobile and Ohio Railroad. 

St. Stephens Bluff (Hobuckintopa) 181 

Photo.from R. S. Hodges and Eugene A. Smith, Geological Survey of Alabama. 

Old St. Stephens Street Scene, Alabama 181 

Photo from R. S. Hodges and Eugene A. Smith. 

Confederate Soldiers' Monument and State Capitol, Montgomery, 

Alabama 190 

Photo from Eugene J. Hall. 

Tallassee Falls, Alabama 190 

Loading Cotton Bales on Alabama River Steamer 191 

Crescent Avenue, Birmingham, Alabama 198 

Photo from Louisville and Nashville Railroad. 

First Avenue, Birmingham, Alabama 198 

Photo from Louisville and Nashville Railroad. 

Court House, Memphis, Tennessee 202 

Crest Road along Missionary Ridge, Chattanooga, Tennessee 202 

Photo from Chattanooga Chamber of Commerce. 

View Towards Chattanooga, Tennessee, from Signal Moimtain 214 

Photo from Chattanooga Chamber of Commerce. 

Doe River Valley, Tennessee 215 

Photo from United States Geological Survey. 

A Mississippi Cotton Field 222 

Gathering Sugar Cane in Mississippi 223 

Photo from United States Department of Agriculture. 

Going to Mill 223 

Photo from United States Forest Service. 

Jackson Square, New Orleans, Louisiana 232 

Three Oaks Mansion, Chalmette, New Orleans 232 

Photo by Stanley Clisby Arthur. 

On Canal Street, New Orleans, Louisiana 233 

Photo from Conventional Tourist Bureau, New Orleans. 

Oakley Plantation, Louisiana 238 

Photo by Stanley Clisby Arthur. 

The DuelUng Oaks, New Orleans, Louisiana 238 

Red River, near Carolina Bluff, Louisiana 240 

Photo from United States Geological Survey. 

Shreveport, Louisiana, on Christmas Morning 241 

A Portion of Galveston's Great Sea Wall 246 

Photo from Chamber of Commerce, Galveston. 



ILLUSTRATIONS 13 

PAGE 

The Alamo, San Antonio, Texas 247 

Photo from Archer's Art Shop, San Antonio. 

View of Part of Fort Worth, Texas 250 

Photo from Chamber of Commerce, Fort Worth 

Mouth of Big Paint, in Kimble Comity, Texas 252 

North Peak, Chisos Mountains, Texas 252 

Photo from United Statea Geological Survey. 

Houston Square, El Paso, Texas 253 

Photo from Chamber of Commerce, El Paso. 

Looking Down Buffalo River Valley, Arkansas 258 

Photo from United States Forest Service. 

Little Missouri Falls, Arkansas 258 

Photo from United States Forest Service. 

Hot Springs, Arkansas 269 

Photo by T. H. Upton, from Missouri Pacific Railway. 

Fourth Avenue, Louisville, Kentucky 262 

Photo by Canfield and Shook. 

In Colossal Cavern, Kentucky 263 

Photo from United States Geological Survey. 

Lexington, Kentucky, on Court Day 270 

Photo by R. L. McClure, Lexington. 

Frankfort, Kentucky 271 

Photo by Gretter's Studio. 

Valley Falls, Tygart's River, West Virginia 286 

On New River, West Virginia 286 

Photo from United States Geological Survey. 

Sandstone Cliff, above Nuttall, New River, West Virginia 287 

Photo from United States Geological Survey. 
A Coal Mine Town at Fireco, West Virginia 290 

A Bit of Wheeling, West Virginia 302 

Copyright by W. T. Nichol, Wheeling. 

Cedar Rocks, on Wheeling Creek, West Virginia 303 

Table Rock, Ohio County, West Virginia 303 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

CHAPTER I 

THE APPEALING VALLEY OF VIRGINIA 
(FROM HARPER'S FERRY TO LEXINGTON) 

THE pilgriins were on their way to Harper's 
Ferry, that tremendous gap in the Blue Ridge 
where the Potomac and the Shenandoah meet 
in majesty. One of them had been telling of a morass 
in an Oregon road that made necessary a detour of 
twenty-two miles. His companions, too polite to voice 
much of the skepticism they felt, called attention to the 
splendid vision by which the traveler is confronted on 
approaching Harper's Ferry from the east — the 
Potomac, the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal, the wooded 
heights above the river. 

''It's only a mile to the city that is to be our Gate- 
way to the South ; we '11 be at the dinner table in half 
an hour," the man at the wheel was saying. Then a 
turn in the road disclosed across the way a barricade 
bearing the distressing word : 



DETOUR 



Efforts to persuade the construction boss to let the 
machine through were fruitless. ''You'll have to go 
round the mountain," he said, positively. 

"How far is it?" was the careless question of the 
man at the wheel. 

2 17 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

* ' Oh, a matter of thirty or forty miles ! ' ' came the 
disconcerting reply. 

It was unbelievable. Harper's Ferry was just 
ahead, around the shoulder of the mountain. Surely 
there was a shorter way to the city which John BroAvn 
made famous ! 

* * All right ! Let 's have a little more of Maryland ! ' ' 
The cheerful voice of the man at the wheel reminded his 
companions that there was something better even than 
dinner, at the close of a long day on the road. *'I was 
just thinking we ought not to turn our backs so soon 
on a state that can furnish such inspiring views as 
that we had on the road from Hagerstown. Remember 
that ridge five miles before we reached Frederick, with 
the wide panorama of the fertile valley? And the road 
from Frederick down here has been so pleasing. I 
really believe I like the idea of the detour. ' ' 

And the entire party agreed with him when, after 
leaving the valley at Treverton, they turned north- 
ward. The roads were not all smooth, but the country 
above the Potomac, toward the Pennsylvania line, was 
so inviting that a highway that forbade rapid travel 
was not unwelcome. 

''"What state are we in now?" asked the man at the 
wheel. ''There are so many state lines in the neigh- 
borhood that I always feel uncertain." 

The others also were uncertain, so a study of the 
curious map of the region became necessary — a region 
where West Virginia, Pennsylvania, Maryland and 
Virginia come together like the parts of a child's 
picture puzzle. 

* * Glad I don 't have to take them apart ; I could not 
get them together again," was the remark that greeted 

18 



THE APPEALING VALLEY OF VIRGINIA 

the appearance of the map. ' ' Why, if you could travel 
along a straight line drawn through Harper's Ferry 
at just the right angle, you would pass from Mary- 
land successively into Virginia, West Virginia, Vir- 
ginia, West Virginia, Maryland, West Virginia, Penn- 
sylvania, West Virginia and Ohio — crossing nine state 
lines in little more than two hundred and fifty miles ! ' ' 

Some of these odd corners of Virginia, West Vir- 
ginia and Maryland were, during the Civil War, the 
scene of marching and counter-marching, of fierce en- 
gagements and of hardy daring. Along the route of 
that evening detour there were not lacking reminders 
of those days of struggle. The way led through 
Sharpsburg, scene of the battle of Antietam, fought in 
September, 1862, between the forces of Lee and Mc- 
Clellan, where more than one-fourth of the seventy-six 
thousand men engaged were either killed or injured. 
At one side of the main road which leads across the 
battlefield is the cemetery where lie the Confederate 
dead. The acres over which the contesting armies 
moved are to-day parts of fertile farms, but here and 
there have been cut through them cross-roads that lead 
to spots made memorable by the heroism of thousands. 

Then comes Shepherdstown on the Potomac, domi- 
nated by the monument to James Rumsey, who, in 
1784, in the presence of George Washington, suc- 
ceeded in steaming up the river in a vessel of 
his own construction. 

**The statue on the height above the river is on 
what they call James Rumsey 's Walk," was the ex- 
planation of a fellow-traveler on the bridge across the 
Potomac — a bridge where the charge for a motor is 
forty cents. **And well worth the price!" agreed the 

19 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

man at the wheel to the taker of toll. He was thinking 
how glad he would have been of a bridge at the right 
place to save him that detour. 

At length the way was clear to Harper's Ferry — 
but from the northwest instead of from the east. The 
road through the town is decidedly picturesque, as 
should be the approach to the waters that move in 
might among the mountain ridges. 

The visitor does not feel that he is really in Har- 
per's Ferry until he stands on the highway bridge 
across the Potomac, or on the near-by bridge over the 
Shenandoah just where it discharges its waters into 
the larger stream; until he passes along the steep 
streets or up the rocky footpath to Jefferson's Rock, 
where the Sage of Monticello sat in wonder, looked at 
the Heights of Loudoun, and wrote his famous descrip- 
tion of **the passage of thQ Potomac through the 
Blue Ridge." 

Here, in 1794, Washington secured one hundred and 
twenty-five acres in the angle formed by the two rivers, 
as the first land for the National Armory which John 
Brown, in his honest but misguided frenzy, attacked in 
1859. And from here Bro^vn was led on to Charles 
Town, the county seat, for the closing chapter in his 
stormy career. 

''Be sure to put two capital letters in the name of 
our city," a business man in this chief town of Jeffer- 
son County said to the pilgrims. ''Don't mix us up 
with Charleston, the capital of West Virginia. Too 
many people do that. Just last month a carload of 
goods consigned to us went down to that modern town. " 

He was asked if it would not be a good thing to 
change the name of the town and avoid the difficulty. 

20 



THE APPEALING VALLEY OF VIRGINIA 

''What! Change the name of Charles Town?" he 
asked, with fine indignation ; ' * the town where history- 
was made, where there are still standing three of the 
homes of the "Washington family, including Harewood, 
the mansion of George Washington, where Dorothy 
Todd came from Philadelphia, driving in Thomas 
Jefferson's coach, to be married to James Madi- 
son in the presence of Light Horse Harry Lee, among 
other guests ! 

''Change the name of our town!" he concluded, 
scornfully. "Let Charleston do the changing. Our 
name belongs to us!" 

Mordington, built by Charles Washington during 
the closing years of the eighteenth century — ^known as 
Happy Retreat in the days of George Washington, who 
was a guest here more than once — and Claymont, built 
in 1820 by a grandnephew of the first President, are 
two of the ancient mansions that are the pride of the 
town that prefers to submit to inconvenience rather 
than change its historic name. 

Charles Town is well within the wonderful Shen- 
andoah Valley, or the Valley of Virginia, one of the 
most glorious valleys in the South — the valley that was 
perhaps one of the most famous battlegrounds of the 
Civil War. To retain possession of it was of greatest 
importance to the South. The Army of Virginia de- 
pended on the supplies of food which came from its 
fertile upland farms, and the final passage of its rich 
acres into Federal hands was one of the last blows of 
the great conflict for Liberty and Union. 

Travelers along the turnpike that threads the valley 
— to-day, as then, one of the famous roads of the 
country — are attracted by markers and monuments 

21 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

that tell of brave men who fought and died along the 
way, and of bitterly contested skirmishes that resulted 
in frequent changes of ownership. 

To "Winchester, not far from Charles Tow^n, belongs 
the record for such changes. Seventy times during 
four years the town passed from one side to the otlier 
■ — four times in a single day ! 

For many miles down the valley road a backward 
glance shows the receding gap where the waters of 
two rivers plunge through the mountains and where 
history was made by many actors from pioneer times 
down to the days of the Civil War. 

On either side of the road fertile farms stretch away 
to a ridge of tree-clad mountains. The two ridges 
form the real boundaries of the funnel-shaped valley 
whose mouth is at Harper's Ferry, whose head is near 
Staunton — one hundred and fifty miles of woodland 
and pasture and fertile field. 

And orchards! For this is the home of the red 
apple of Virginia. And fortunate is he who seeks the 
valley in early October when the trees are bending 
beneath the weight of the ripened fruit, when the 
farmers are pleading ^vith friends, acquaintances, 
strangers, everybody, to help in gathering the crop. 

There were numerous evidences of the eagerness 
for pickers. Once the pilgrims passed a village school 
where the teacher was loading the boys and girls into 
a carry-all. "With merry laughter and glad anticipation 
they were off for a morning with the fruit. 

Not far from that village school, and about one hun- 
dred miles up the valley funnel, is New Market, fre- 
quently mentioned in stories of the heroic campaigns 
of 1861-1864 along the Shenandoah. Leading from 

22 



THE APPEALING VALLEY OF VIRGINIA 

New Market across the ridge to the left, to famous 
Luray Caverns, is a mountain road that takes advan- 
tage of New Market Gap for the crossing to Eastern 
Virginia. This road was in wartime a favorite means 
of communication between Richmond and the armies 
in the valley. To-day it passes through the heart of 
the Massanutten National Forest, the most accessible 
of the national forests to Philadelphia, "Washington 
and Baltimore. 

And what wonders this forest area has in store for 
the visitor, whether he comes for a brief stay of a day 
or two, or determined to spend several weeks in 
this enchanted area where the Indians, in giving 
the name Massanutten, had in mind the "Great 
Mountain Yonder!" 

Some of the early settlers followed the Indians to 
Massanutten. William Powell, it is said, found silver 
here and forthwith proceeded to make counterfeit 
money, the depreciated currency of King George giving 
him his opportunity. George "Washington, too, hunted 
and fished and surveyed on the mountain and in the 
valleys on either side. Like the good strategist he was, 
he planned to return to the region if the difficulties of 
1776 proved too great, and to erect fortifications, so 
the claim is made, in the Powell's Fort Valley, whose 
wonderful situation for such a purpose will be appar- 
ent to those who examine the suggestive map of the 
Massanutten Forest sent on application to the Forest 
Service at Washington, D. C. 

"Beware of the road over Massanutten!" was the 
warning of the proprietor of the lunch-counter in the 
village. But who would not risk a few difficulties for 
the sake of the tremendous prospect spread out from 

23 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

the road as it climbs the mountainside? And in the 
days so soon to come when a turnpike mil take away 
some of the delights of the journey to Luray, while 
adding others, it will be worth while to say, **But you 
should have crossed over Massanutten before the road 
was straightened, when the cautious traveler looked 
well to his supply of matches before beginning the 
fifteen-mile traverse from New Market to Luray." 
Fifteen miles is a short distance — but it is an easy 
matter to be overtaken by the night, with a disabled 
machine, while crossing the mountain. 

The first visitors to Luray Caverns found that in 
past ages not only wolves but bears knew the way to 
those passages; footprints appear everywhere on the 
damp clay floor, looking as if they had just been made, 
though many of them probably are centuries old. 

The clay has been removed, so that the visitor finds 
the floor in most places reasonably dry. Concrete walks 
and bridges have been built wherever these are needed, 
that access may be easy to the intricate by-ways that 
lead to mysterious dungeons, tortuous passages, and 
splendid halls. 

Everywhere incandescent lights are placed, so that 
the marvels of the cave are revealed in an appealing 
manner. The first visitors had to be content with sput- 
tering candles, but as early as 1882 the aisles and 
vaulted halls were illuminated by arc lights whose 
power proceeded from an engine in Luray over what 
was then a marvel, a circuit of seven miles, '* supposed 
to be the largest circuit yet attempted mth a single 
engine, ' ' according to the exclamatory boast of Horace 
C. Hovey, who first described the mile and a half of 
passages that are open to the tourist as well as the 

24 



THE APPEALING VALLEY OF VIRGINIA 

additional mile or more to which geologists and other 
specialists have access. 

These three miles of subterranean glory are cov- 
ered by about one hundred acres of rocky earth. So 
it is in contracted space that the ways trodden by the 
bears and wolves of past ages turn and loop one 
over another. The lowest passage is two hundred 
and sixty feet below that nearest the surface of the 
upland plateau. 

At once on descending the easy concrete steps that 
lead to Entrance Avenue the visitor is in the midst of 
the glittering formations that crowd on all sides in 
prodigal profusion and fantastic shape — stalactites, 
whose slow growth downward from the ceiling has been 
accomplished by the agency of the water-bearing car- 
bonate of lime, ''the ever-plying shuttle that weaves 
the fairy fabric," leaving behind a portion of the min- 
eral before it drops from the end of the stalactite to the 
floor; and stalagmites, formed from the floor upward 
by the drops from the stalactites. When the drops 
are slow enough in their movement they leave all the 
mineral they carry on the stalactites, but sometimes 
they form more rapidly and the mineral growth from 
the floor is the result. 

Frequently stalactites and stalagmites have grown 
together and formed columns from floor to ceiling. 
Sometimes they are slowly approaching each other. In 
one instance, at least, the two are separated by the 
thickness of a knife-blade ; yet many months will pass 
before the gap is filled. The present rate of growth 
is a cubic inch in about one hundred and twenty years, 
though in other caverns it is more rapid. 

The eerie beauty of the scramble through these col- 

25 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

unms and pinnacles is increased by the changes in 
color, which varies from brown or yellow to startling 
red and glistening, alabaster white. Here is a spark- 
ling waterfall, its successive cascades natural as life — 
but the entire formation is mineral. Over yonder is a 
dull series of pendants that look for all the world like 
fish, still dripping from the stream, hanging in a row 
as in a market. From the ceiling depend draperies 
delicate as a woman's evening wrap, which need only 
the electric light to show their translucent texture. 
In more than one instance the light reveals combina- 
tions of colors that make one think he sees a blanket 
hanging out to dry, or a side of bacon where fat and 
lean alternate in most appetizing fashion. 

In the hall known as The Cathedral there is a group 
of formations called The Organ that respond to the 
skilled touch of fingers or soft mallet like the pipes 
of an organ. Tunes can be played on these as on tubu- 
lar metal, the pleasure given being increased by the 
long time required for the dying away of the sound; 
sometimes the \dbrations continue more than a min- 
ute after a stalactite has been struck. 

As the pilgrims to Luray emerged from the caverns 
— where the temperature is about fifty-four degrees 
the year round — they were content to leave to scien- 
tists the discussion as to the age of what they had 
seen. For them it was enough to marvel at the handi- 
work of Him who laid the foundations of the earth. 

Back again over the mountain to New Market. The 
road seemed better than before, and the prospect from 
Massanutten was more perfect on the return trip. 
Down the valley, with the Shenandoah National For- 
est on the ridge to the right, where a road on the sum- 

26 




NATT RAL BRID(;E, VIRGINIA 



THE APPEALING VALLEY OF VIRGINIA 

mit affords splendid opportunity to view the country. 
On to Harrisonburg, whose name recalls men of 1861- 
1865, and whose pleasant streets and stately buildings 
speak of bustle and prosperity. On to Staunton, the 
city famed for its educational institutions as well as 
its sturdy leadership in business, the city which 
proudly points to the manse where Woodrow Wilson 
was bom when his father was a pastor in the town, a 
house occupied by a successor in the church. 

At Staunton the pilgrims had been told the perfect 
Shenandoah Valley road ended. So they sought ad- 
vice as to roads toward Lexington. 

"There are two ways," was the statement of a clerk 
at the postoffice. ''One of them you will find so bad 
you will wish you had taken the other. You will have 
dust to your hubs. For a mile there are stones the 
size of your fist. I went that way Saturday, and 
I came back the other. My advice to you is to take 
neither road." 

But it was not good advice. There was no dust: 
perhaps it had rained. And there were no rocks. To 
be sure, the going was slow at times. But who wishes 
to move rapidly when there is such a succession of 
vistas of hill and vale, on to the distant ridges to 
the west? 

Then the road winds through the valley and over 
the hills to Lexington, one of the shrines of the South- 
land, for when they think of Lexington Southerners are 
apt to think also of the man whom fellow-students at 
West Point affectionately called ''Old Jack," whose 
soldiers, many years later, gave him the nick- 
name " Stonewall." 

General Jackson was an earnest Christian man, a 

27 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

loyal citizen of the Union until he felt that he should 
listen first to the call of his own state, Virginia. Then 
he became a leader of Confederate forces, and so con- 
tinued until the day when he was shot down by his own 
men, who mistook him and his staff for Federal cav- 
alry. A monument rises to his memory not far from 
the business center of Lexington, and there loyal citi- 
zens from all parts of a reunited countiy meet in 
appreciation of the commander's stalwart character. 

It is remarkable that another of the South 's great- 
est commanders was buried in Lexington — Robert E. 
Lee, who called Stonewall Jackson his right arm. After 
the close of the Civil War, when he urged his men to 
do their loyal best as citizens of their country, he 
became president of Washington College at Lexington, 
now Washington and Lee University. For five years 
he trained students for Christian service in a land 
where there would be no more North and South, but 
where all would dwell together in harmony. He was 
buried in the college chapel. Above his tomb there is a 
white marble effigy which shows the great commander, 
whom General Grant finally overcame, asleep on 
the battlefield. 

''Let me take you into the General's study," the 
eager custodian of the chapel made his plea. *'You all 
will want to see the room where he worked. ' ' 

The door — not more than a rod or two from the 
tomb — was thrown open with reverence, and in sub- 
dued tones the guide called attention to the furniture. 
''Jest prezackly as the General left it," he said. 
' ' There he set and read, and there he wrote, and those 
books on the shelf he used, and that map on the wall he 
helped to make ; see, it has his name signed to it. " 

28 



THE APPEALING VALLEY OF VIRGINIA 

From the city of Lee and Jackson it is but fifteen 
miles to the marvel that shares with Luray Caverns the 
claim to the attention of visitors to the valley who seek 
the marvelous — Natural Bridge. The road is a little 
rough, but it is perfectly good in dry weather. The 
country is not so delightfully garden-like as to the 
north of Lexington and Staunton, but the more rugged 
surface is welcome. Perhaps the way would be some- 
what trying to a man behind a horse, if he is in a hurry. 
But the pilgrims had left haste behind them. 

So had the one lone traveler seen in many miles. 
Up a rocky ridge strained the bony horse hitched to a 
dilapidated-looking covered wagon. A woman drove; 
two children were by her side. And trudging behind 
was a man, who was glad to stop and exchange words 
with men who were not in a hurry. 

* ^ This is living ! " he said. ' ' Six weeks ago the doctor 
in New York said I was done for. I saw I couldn't get 
well in that climate, and I didn 't know what to do, until 
I found that my wife was willing to come off like this, 
hoping to fix me up. We bought that funny-looking 
contraption you saw and started out. I Ve gained nine 
pounds since I 've been on the road, what with exercise 
in the good air, and sleeping out at night. Next spring 
we hope to go back to New York. ' ' 

The invalid did not have time to stop at Natural 
Bridge ; he was searching for something of more value 
to him than a mighty arch that spans an abyss and tells 
of the Architect of the Valley of Virginia. 

But for nearly two centuries there have come this 
way men for whom the bridge has been the goal of the 
journey. One of these was George Washington. There 
is a tradition that when he was a surveyor he visited 

29 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

the great stone arch, climbed some twenty-five feet up 
one of the precipitous abutments and carved his initials 
there. Visitors are told just where to look for the 
**G. W."; but it is necessary to use a good deal of 
imagination to see the letters. 

Sam Houston, the Indian fighter, later a president 
of Texas when it was a republic, was familiar with the 
arch above Cedar Creek, for he was bom not far from 
the gorge in the Blue Ridge that is spanned by the 
bridge not made by the hands of men. Perhaps as he 
looked from the parapet of the monolith into the creek 
bed far below, or as he stood by the water and gazed 
upward at the springing arch, he thought of the Indian 
legend of the building of the bridge which the primi- 
tive men called the Bridge of God. The legend tells 
how the Monacans, fleeing before the Sha^vnees and 
Powhatans, came to a great chasm which they could 
not cross. In despair they fell on their faces and 
prayed that the Great Spirit would deliver them. 
When they rose they saw with wonder that a great 
stone arch spanned the chasm. Fearing to trust them- 
selves to it, they sent the women and children ahead 
to test it. Then all crossed just in time to turn and 
defend the passage against the advancing hosts. 

Thomas Jefferson was the first historian of this 
Bridge of God. From his boyhood home, Shadwell, 
not far from Charlottesville, he followed the beautiful 
valley of the James until he came to what he later 
described as "the most sublime of Nature's works." 
He did not rest until he secured possession of the 
bridge and the land surrounding it. At Williamsburg, 
Virginia, there is on file the deed he secured from 
George III of England to the property : 

30 



THE APPEALING VALLEY OF VIRGINIA 

''Know ye that for divers good causes and consid- 
erations, but more especially for and in consideration 
of the sum of Twenty Shillings of good and lawful 
money for our use paid to our Receiver General of our 
Revenues, in this our Colony and Dominion of Vir- 
ginia, We have Given, Granted and Conferred, and by 
these presents for us, our heirs and successors. Do 
Give, Grant and Confirm unto Thomas Jefferson, one 
certain Tract or parcel of land containing 157 acres, 
lying and being in the County of Botetourt, including 
the Natural Bridge on Cedar Creek . . ." 

When the property came into his possession, Jef- 
ferson built a log cabin near one end of the bridge, 
for the accommodation of two slaves, who were in- 
structed to receive and care for the visitors who should 
go there in response to the owner's earnest invitation 
to see something that would add joy to life. It is said 
that the stone chimney built for this cabin became a 
part of a modern house on the same site. 

The present-day visitor who would follow in the 
steps of the friends of Jeiferson to what Henry Clay 
called ''the bridge not made with hands, that spans a 
river, carries a highway, and makes two mountains 
one," has first an impressive journey whether he comes 
from the north, up the Shenandoah Valley, through 
Lexington, and across the intervening fifteen miles of 
picturesque hill road ; from the south, past the Peaks of 
Otter, across the Valley of the James near its head- 
waters; or from the east, across the green mountain 
ridge that gives enticing hint of the beauties of the can- 
yon of Cedar Creek spanned by Jefferson's arch. 

From whatever direction approach is made, no 
warning is given either of the massive structure or of 

31 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

the secluded gorge it spans, even if the road leads over 
the bridge itself. It is possible to make the crossing 
without realizing what is underneath; the roadway is 
wide, and the parapet and the trees that overhang the 
brink on either side of the canyon shut out the view. 

So most visitors have their first sight of the bridge 
from the bed of Cedar Creek, after walking several 
hundred yards down the winding path that leads by the 
ancient trees, whose girth demands an instant's pause, 
though one is eager for the vision of grace and splen- 
dor that waits around a turn to the right. 

Just at first the great height of the arch is not 
apparent; the bluffs that crowd close on either side 
seem to interfere with the impression. But this is only 
for an instant. Almost at once the great distance from 
the bed of the stream to the center of the arch, and then 
to the surface where the road crosses from wall to wall, 
takes hold of the imagination, and the figures which 
an instant before meant little become eloquent. Two 
hundred and fifteen feet is the height, the span is ninety 
feet, and the space for the roadway is from fifty to 
ninety feet wide ! Fifteen thousand cubic feet of rock 
in the arch above the stream! And beneath the arch 
Niagara Falls might make its plunge, so far as height 
is concerned. **The span itself has the precision of 
measured masonry,'' one visitor wrote, "yet the block 
of stone between the piers is an unbroken mass. The 
opening has somewhat the proportions of a horseshoe 
magnet, while the walls are not absolutely perpendicu- 
lar, but lean slightly to the left. The faces are tinted 
dull red and ochre, and soft shades of yellow and cream, 
colored by the vein of iron and manganese in the hills 
above. Where the arch protects the walls from the 

32 



THE APPEALING VALLEY OF VIRGINIA 

water they are of a dark or delicate bluish gray, with 
white lights." 

Let the silent worshiper at this shrine of the Cre- 
ator stand a little while and wonder at the arch that 
seems even larger than before as the birds wing their 
way through it or alight on their nests built in the fis- 
sures of the rock. Then let him walk within the shadow 
of the arch that is so far above him that it would be 
useless as a shelter from a summer rain. Let him pass 
through, then turn and study the proportions of super- 
human planning, drinking in the beauty of the picture 
framed in the arch — trees and rocks and walls and 
water, and above all the azure sky of Virginia. Let him 
turn again and scramble up the glen, amidst the under- 
growth of what has been called "the finest fernery in 
the world," where sixty varieties of fern have been 
classified. On to Saltpetre Cave, where, during the 
War of 1812, busy men gathered a necessary ingredient 
for gunpowder; to Lost River, which the miners dis- 
covered one day as they toiled — a stream whose source 
and outlet both are unknown; to Lace Water Falls, 
where Cedar Creek comes to a precipice fifty feet high 
and takes the plunge as if eager to pass under the arch 
that lends glory to the stream. 

Now it is time to turn and follow the water to the 
portals of the arch, there to study once more what some 
geologists say is all that is left of a vast underground 
cavern through which a hidden river found its way, 
a cavern broken by an earthquake until the sole relic 
of what may once have been similar to the Caverns of 
Luray is the Natural Bridge that was the delight of 
Jefferson as it will be the delight of those who fol- 
low him to this charmed valley deep in the hills loved 
by the Sage of Monticello. 
3 



CHAPTER II 

ALONG MARYLAND'S VALLEY OF DREAMS 
(FROM WASHINGTON TO CUMBERLAND) 



rnr^ 



HE valley of the upper Potomac might well be 
■ called the Valley of Dreams, 
-■- George Washington was the first dreamer. 

Before the Eevolution he talked of reaching the West 
by means of improvements on the Potomac River. 
After the close of the war he was given opportunity to 
carry out his plans. In 1784 he made a horseback 
journey to Ohio, to renew acquaintance with the diflB- 
culties and possibilities of the country. In 1785 Mary- 
land and Virginia appropriated what seemed large 
sums for the improvement of the river according to 
Washington's plan, and $6,666.67 for a road "from the 
highest practicable navigation of the river to . . . 
the river Cheat, or Monongahela. " The company that 
was to improve the river, the first part of the ambitious 
project, was capitalized at £40,300. Washington felt 
sure that within a few years return on the investment 
would be at least twenty per cent. 

From 1785 to 1787 Washington was president of 
the * * Patowmack Canal Company, ' ' as it was called in 
an early prospectus. During these years he was able 
to keep enthusiasm alive, and it was possible to do 
effective work in building canals around the obstruc- 
tions at Great Falls, near Washington, at Seneca Falls, 
near by, and at Shenandoah Falls, at Harper's Ferry. 
Yet it was not easy to secure money to pay the common 

34 



ALONG MARYLAND'S VALLEY OF DREAMS 

laborers, who received thirty-two shillings per month, 
in addition to rations. 

With the removal of Washington, the canal 
dreamer, to Philadelphia, as the head of the Grovem- 
ment, interest languished. Shares were offered at 
auction without a bid. But $729,380 in all was raised 
and expended by 1820, when it was decided that some- 
thing more must be done. 

Washington was also the first dreamer of a far 
more ambitious project : the National Road to connect 
with the Potomac Canal and to go on to the Ohio. And 
Thomas Jefferson and Henry Clay were the later 
dreamers who gave form to his proposal for establish- 
ing easy communication with the West. In 1806 Jeffer- 
son signed a bill appropriating $30,000 for a prelim- 
inary survey. After various delays construction was 
begun in earnest in 1816, and the road was completed 
to Wheeling in 1818. Baltimore dreamers, determined 
to preserve for that city its eminence in western trade, 
arranged for a connection with that city. As a result, 
Baltimore, instead of Cumberland, is looked on as the 
eastern terminus of the old road that played such a 
vital part in the early history of the nation. 

Then came a third dream. It was proposed to con- 
struct a canal from Georgetown, along the left bank 
of the Potomac, to Cumberland, and from there by the 
best route to the Ohio River. The first estimate of the 
cost was $1,500,000 ; but it was soon realized that much 
more would be needed to build a canal to Cumberland. 
The Chesapeake and Ohio Canal Company was sanc- 
tioned by Congress and chartered by Maryland, Vir- 
ginia and Pennsylvania. 

There was great enthusiasm in Washington, yet 

35 



SEEIx\G THE SUNNY SOUTH 

Baltimore business men were not more than lukewarm. 
The city did not oppose the canal; but how could she 
be expected to be enthusiastic? Why should the city 
pay one-third of the taxes voted by Maryland for the 
canal, when the result would be to divert its trade to 
Washington and cities near by? Philadelphia and 
New York were already making ready to take much 
of their trade ; was Washington to be allowed to com- 
plete the work of destruction? 

The asking of the question gave birth to the most 
ambitious dream of all. Philip Thomas and George 
Brown were the dreamers now. Who wanted a canal, 
anyway? Canals were out of date; the day of the rail- 
road was coming. The railroad ''will surely supercede 
canals as effectually as canals have superceded turn- 
pike roads," was the contention in Baltimore. Daring 
Baltimoreans, therefore, planned to bridge the five 
hundred miles between that city and the Ohio River! 
And this in spite of the fact that up to that time a 
ten-mile line was the country's most ambitious rail- 
road achievement. 

The railroad dreamers and the canal dreamers got 
busy at about the same time. On July 4, 1828, ground 
for the canal was broken near Washington, and on the 
same day the ''cornerstone" of the railroad was laid 
at Baltimore. 

The dreamers became deadly rivals. There was 
no difficulty until the railroad reached the Potomac. 
There the canal company claimed the sole right of way. 
There were injunctions and lawsuits, disastrous delays 
and compromises that hurt both parties. The chief 
difficulty came between Point of Rocks and Harper's 
Ferry, where the passage between the river and the 

36 



ALONG MARYLAND'S VALLEY OF DREAMS 

mountain is narrow. It was finally arranged that the 
railroad should be given right of way to Harper's 
Ferry, on condition that it should build no farther until 
its slower rival could reach Cumberland. Within a 
year or two, however, the canal company sought state 
relief from its financial difficulties, and this was granted 
on condition that the railroad be allowed to go ahead 
as rapidly as possible. 

So, in 1842, the dream of the railroad builders was 
realized as far as Cumberland, but it was not until 
1850 that the canal reached the city perched on the 
Potomac far below overshadowing mountains. 

The bitter rivalries have been forgotten; calmly 
and peacefully railroad and canal cross the long west- 
em extension of Maryland, sometimes side by side, at 
other times within sight of each other. One carries a 
mighty commerce, and its importance increases with 
the years ; the other pursues its dignified way, bearing 
on its bosom during each month of the open season a 
few hundred coal-laden canal barges whose crews are 
blissfully ignorant of the fact that the one hundred and 
eighty-six miles of artificial waterway from George- 
town to Cumberland cost $11,591,768.37 ! 

Perhaps that is expensive when the amount of com- 
merce carried is considered. But it is cheap in the eyes 
of the leisurely traveler who wants to see the charming 
Maryland landscape through which the canal makes 
its way. 

The journey along the canal will take time ; but what 
of that I The boatmen are hospitable, as a rule, and it 
is not a difficult matter to make arrangements with 
one of them for a passage from beginning to end of the 
route. The quarters provided may not be as comf ort- 

37 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

able as in the days of the passenger packet boats. The 
speed is not as good as the dizzy five and six miles 
attained when the canal was in its glory. But 
who cares? 

* ' Movement without motion ' ' is the description some- 
one has given to travel by canal. The aptness of the 
phrase will be appreciated by the fortunate traveler 
with a few days to spare who has persuaded the mon- 
arch of one of the long, ungainly canal boats to take 
him as passenger from Georgetown toward Cumber- 
land. Immediately after passing through the locks at 
Great Falls, the boat passes serenely beneath rocky 
cliffs, surmounted by trees of a dozen varieties and 
almost hidden by luxuriant verdure. 

For many miles the waterway keeps close to the 
Potomac, sometimes many feet above the stream, again 
on a level with it. The mirror-like surface beneath the 
gliding boat is in sharp contrast to the rippling and 
sometimes impetuously flowing river. A part of the 
restful scene is the boy who rides the horse on the tow- 
path, lolling back perhaps and looking up at the blue 
sky, or the woman who leans against the crude rudder 
or goes about her household mysteries in her rest- 
less kitchen. 

And nowthe river and the canal seek closer acquaint- 
ance with sleepy, green mountain ridges. On the slope 
between are log cabins with huge stone chimneys, and 
more ambitious houses of wood and stone. There are 
fields where boys are at their never-ending task of gath- 
ering rocks. Again the eye rests on cool forests or 
luscious orchards or generous fields where the corn 
rustles, only to be distracted by one more of the locks 
where the ridiculously narrow boat stealthily rises to 

38 



m9 ' 




as 5 
s c 









ALONG MARYLAND'S VALLEY OF DREAMS 

pursue its journey on a higher level, or by an overhead 
bridge where the passenger must stoop quickly if he 
would not be thrown prostrate. 

Here and there along the towpath are snubbing 
posts which made one leisurely pilgrim think of a dark 
day in college when he sat on a post like one of these, 
by just such a canal, watched other boats go by, and 
wondered where the money was to come from to pay 
his week's board bill and secure a few bushels of coal 
for the cannon stove in his dormitory room. Some- 
how an experience of enforced economy always brings 
to his mind the picture of a snubbing post and a 
canal boat ! 

One of the keenest pleasures of the trip by canal is 
the walk along the towpath, keeping pace with the plod- 
ding horses, moving on ahead, lagging behind for a 
closer study of the banks, turning aside into the for- 
ests by the way, or into the fields — perhaps at Big 
Pool, Maryland, some eighteen miles west of Hagers- 
town, for a sight of the ruined stone walls of Fort 
Frederick, which dates from Colonial days. Again the 
temptation comes to move to a point where can be seen 
the sturdy aqueducts by which the canal crosses tribu- 
taries of the river. Fit companions these for the well- 
constructed bridges of the Natit)nal Road that, after 
nearly one hundred years, are a marvel of strength 
and beauty! 

Sometimes the canal clings to the river, so that it 
is but a step from one to the other. Again it remains 
coyly at a distance. But always it finds its way back 
to the stream on which it depends for water. Often 
railroad and turnpike and canal and river are crowded 
ill a deep gorge where the ridges come close on either 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

side ; but soon they are able to take more room, for the 
mountains slope more gently, perhaps with a rolling 
green shelf intervening. In such places perhaps the 
eye moves gradually upward to a summit outlined by 
trees of the forest, or, it may be, by com in stately rows 
that make silhouettes against the sky. 

No one can easily forget the twelve miles from 
Point of Eocks to Harper's Ferry, or the first sight 
of the mighty gorge where the mountains bow to permit 
the passage of the Shenandoah and the Potomac. That 
scene is always remarkable, but some think it is more 
pleasing at dawn. What a setting this for the sunrise, 
viewed from a point where the canal and the two rivers 
are in sight ! Watch the faint rose tinge in the water, 
deepening gradually to red, the reflected clouds, the 
sun-kissed mountains! Is it strange that often the 
canal boatman is something of a poet ? 

Those early engineers who planned this canal had 
the poet 's soul. Note the pleasing sweep of the canal ; of 
course the site was fixed for engineering reasons, but it 
seems the best possible setting for the pleasing scenery. 
And those who have followed the engineers in the care 
of the waterway have labored in like spirit. Witness 
the sturdy trees along the towpath, sometimes a mere 
drooping eyelash through which the mother river 
watches over her child; sometimes — when the stream, 
relaxing guardianship for a time, withdraws to a dis- 
tance — a real bit of woodland. Always they seem to 
say to those fortunate enough to respond to their allur- 
ing whisper: ''Feast your eyes on us; our beauty is 
for you. Look up through our branches to the sky. 
Look down at our reflection in the glassy surface on 
which your craft rides so smoothly. And then think 

40 



ALONG MARYLAND'S VALLEY OF DREAMS 

of God, who placed the trees where all could see them 
and read his mind. ' ' 

To a chronicler of 1840, who wrote of the canal, 
the crowning feature was the tunnel twenty-five miles 
above Hancock, "three thousand one hundred and 
eighteen feet long, twenty-four feet wide, and seven- 
teen feet from the crown of the arch to the water's 
surface, cut through slate rock." But tunnels do not 
have the appeal of the open spaces — for instance, those 
just before Cumberland is reached. There the canal 
ambles across a valley bounded on one side by a ridge 
whose many-humped summit looks like the hump-the- 
bumps of some giant. A look ahead shows the succes- 
sive folds of the mountain, closing down on the little 
city, many of whose streets rise tier on tier, while the 
houses climb higher and yet higher until some are even 
brave enough to stand alone on the crest of the top- 
most ridge. 

At Cumberland is the end of the canal trip that is 
always worth while. Let it be made in the spring, when 
the trees are taking on their clothing of summer green. 
Or a good time is the summer, when the foliage grows 
dense and the river invites the swimmer. And there is 
late October, when the grandest Artist of all paints the 
trees in gorgeous crimson and yellow, when the light 
of the setting sun falls on glorified hillsides and makes 
even the stolid boatman exclaim, with shamefaced 
apology, **You can't help saying something when you 
see a thing like that. ' ' 



CHAPTER III 

THE EASTERN SHORE AND THE CHESAPEAKE 

"A I ^HE LAND OF GENTLEMEN" is one of the 
I popular names for the water-bound Eastern 

-■- Shore of Maryland and Virginia between the 
Chesapeake Bay and the Delaware and Atlantic Ocean 
— a region of romance and beauty, and Americans who 
can be sure of ancestors who came from England 
long ago. 

There are a few easy approaches to the land of 
fertile farms and shifting sands. First there is the 
steamer from Baltimore down the Chesapeake. It is 
to be hoped that the steamship company will plan a day 
schedule for the pleasure of those who wish to study 
the curiously indeuted shore past Annapolis and the 
mouths of the Patuxent and the Potomac, along the 
limits of the peninsula of Tidewater Virginia on the 
west and the curious but important appendage to Vir- 
ginia on the east. 

Then there is the train through the heart of the 
Eastern Shore. First there is a bit of Maryland, where 
orchards and green fields surround Salisbury and 
Princess Anne, quaint towns whose shaded streets and 
comfortable, old-time houses tell the traveler who is 
not in a hurry that he ought to stop and test the hos- 
pitality of people who have notTorgotten the traditions 
of other days. 

Then come the counties of the Accomac Peninsula, , 
the many bays and creeks, the pines, and the sand 
48 



EASTERN SHORE AND THE CHESAPEAKE 

dunes that are in almost ceaseless motion because of 
tke breezes, first from the Atlantic, then from the 
Chesapeake. Through these is the best route to enter 
the country of the Chesapeake — after due pause at 
Chincoteague or Accomac or Eastville, or others of the 
old-time towns and villages along the way, there to 
absorb some of the delights of this region to which so 
few turn their steps except to rush through to the 
resorts about the lower Chesapeake. 

Of the four centers of greatest interest in connec- 
tion with the early history of America — Boston, New 
York, Philadelphia, and this Chesapeake Bay region in 
Virginia^ — the last is least known. Yet here, within a 
radius of little more than fifty miles, were Jamestown, 
the first permanent settlement on the continent; the 
famous houses on the James, still shown to those who 
make their leisurely way along this pleasing waterway ; 
Henrico, Jamestown's successor after the capital of 
the colony was destroyed during Bacon's Rebellion; 
Yorktown, in later years famous because there were 
the closing scenes of the Revolution; Old Point Com- 
fort, the port of entry for the mainland as well as the 
Eastern Shore, the isolated tongue of land that was one 
of the most favored sections of old Virginia. 

The bit of the peninsula that belongs to Virginia 
contains two counties and is about seventy miles long, 
while the average breadth is about eight miles. Natu- 
rally it is low and sandy. Pine trees flourish, and strong 
breezes are almost constant. The Indians, with whom 
this tongue of land was a favorite, called it ^'Acchaw- 
make," or the land beyond the water. The colonists 
called it Accomac, or ** Ye Antient Kingdome of Accaw- 
make. ' ' This name survives as the name of one of the 

43 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

counties, though, strangely enough, Accomac is not 
the older of these counties; Northampton was the 
original subdivision of the colony. 

Tradition says that the first settlers on Accomac 
sought the Eastern Shore in 1610, that they intermar- 
ried with the Nassawattox Indians, and became semi- 
savage. But the first settlement of which reliable his- 
tory tells was made in 1614. Probably the first perma- 
nent white settler was named Savage. His descendants 
still live there ; Savage is a common name on the East- 
ern Shore Historians of Virginia declare that the 
Savages represent the oldest American family in the 
United States. 

Another popular family name in the region is Not- 
tingham, a name seldom heard elsewhere. Those who 
bear it are leaders in the community. A writer on 
Eastern Shore peculiarities has said, ''One can make 
no mistake by addressing an Eastern Shoreman, if a 
gentleman, by that name, for if it is not his own name 
it will probably be that of a near relative; and if he 
happens not to be a gentleman, he will be flattered. ' ' 

Before many years other settlers followed the 
original Savage. The lands were rich, and immigrants 
were attracted by the exemption from the landing tax 
required at Point Comfort. Later the community bore 
its share of taxation, as was appointed in 1652, when 
the leaders of the people prepared the famous North- 
ampton Protest to the General Assembly (and so to the 
King) against taxation without representation. In 
this the request was made that the ' ' Taxacon of fforty 
sixe pounds of tobacco per poll . . . bee taken off 
ye charge of ye Countie," because the "Llawe" was 
" Arbitrarj'-e and illegall: fforasmuch as wee had 

44 



EASTERN SHORE AND THE CHESAPEAKE 

neither summons for Ellecon of Burgesses nor voyce 
in the Assemblye. " 

Perhaps Governor Berkeley remembered this pro- 
test twenty-five years later when, in his eagerness to 
attach to himself the freemen of Accomac and North- 
ampton, he promised freedom from taxation for 
twenty years if they would remain faithful to him 
against the leaders of Bacon's Rebellion. 

In 1643 about one thousand of Virginia's fifteen 
thousand inhabitants lived in this small section of the 
colony. In 1667 the Eastern Shore counties contained 
about three thousand people. 

The modem traveler along the Eastern Shore takes 
steamer for the pleasant ride from Cape Charles to 
Cape Henry and Fort Monroe, an army post where 
sea wall and lighthouse, batteries, moat and ramparts, 
barracks for soldiers and quarters for officers hold the 
eyes that look to the land, while merchant vessels and 
ships of war, some gliding along the water, others rid- 
ing at anchor, greet those who turn to the sea. 

Norfolk, the leading seaport of the old Dominion; 
Newport News, at the head of Hampton Roads, and 
Portsmouth with its Navy Yard, are within reach 
of the waters where the Monitor and the Merrimac 
fought their duel to the death, the first battle be- 
tween ironclads. 

At the point of a narrow neck of land, opposite 
Portsmouth, was Old Point Comfort Hotel, until it was 
burned in March, 1920, while across the water on the 
mainland is Hampton, where Captain John Smith 
landed, with its venerable St. John's Church, built in 
1727, and the churchyard where weeping willows hang 
out their drooping banners. 

45 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

And this is but the beginning of the spots that make 
Tidewater Virginia rich hunting ground for those who 
delight in the spots that history has made memorable. 
Only a few miles up York River is Yorktown, where 
Comwallis sadly yielded his sword, and where forti- 
fications were built in the days of the Confederacy. 
For seventy years before the British general came 
there the little town was a busy place ; the first custom 
house in the United States, built in 1715, bears silent 
mtness to its trade. Near by is the Nelson House, 
where Comwallis had his headquarters, and less than 
a mile distant is the Moore House, where the agree- 
ment of surrender was prepared and signed. 

Along the Rappahannock are a number of the de- 
lightful homes of the early days, but the spot to which 
visitors turn with greatest eagerness is Fredericks- 
burg, with the house where the mother of George Wash- 
ington lived and died, cared for now by the Associa- 
tion for the Preservation of Virginia Antiquities. 
Kenmore, home of Betty Lewis, Washington's sister, 
is near by. 

Not far from the mouth of the Potomac, which 
enters the Chesapeake a few mile above the Rappahan- 
nock, the Lees had their home, at Stratford. This 
sturdy mansion was built soon after the fire of 1729 
that destroyed the earlier house of Colonel Thomas 
Lee, the father of ''Light Horse Harry" Lee, who, in 
the Continental Congress, made the motion that ''these 
colonies are and of right ought to be free and indepen- 
dent states. " Here Robert E. Lee was born in 1807, and 
here he spent the first few years of his life. 

It is only about one hundred miles farther up the 
river to the region of Mount Vernon, the home which 

46 




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CO 2; 



EASTERN SHORE AND THE CHESAPEAKE 

Washington loved; Alexandria and Pohick, the two 
churches where he was vestryman ; Gunston Hall, where 
he liked to go to see his friend, George Mason, either by 
the road or by the river route; and, finally, the city 
which he founded in the heart of a district given for 
the purpose by Maryland and Virginia, though the 
land south of the Potomac later became again part 
of Virginia. 

Washington is neither a northern nor a southern 
city, yet it was built well within the region popularly 
known as the South, and those who enter its welcoming 
portals feel at once that they are in the land of sun- 
shine and hospitality. 

The Nation's Capital has changed since Charles 
Dickens wrote of it, in words tinged it may be with 
something of prejudice : 

**It is sometimes called the City of Magnificent Dis- 
tances, but it might with greater propriety bo called the 
City of Magnificent Intentions, for it is only by taking 
a bird's-eye view of it from the top of the Capitol that 
one can at all comprehend the vast designs of its pro- 
jector, an aspiring Frenchman. Spacious avenues that 
begin in nothing and lead nowhere ; streets miles long 
that only want houses, roads and inhabitants; pub- 
lic buildings that need only a public to be com- 
plete; and ornaments of great thoroughfares which 
only lack great thoroughfares to ornament — are the 
leading features." 

Then the great novelist closed his witty but not 
altogether fair picture by declaring it ''a monument 
raised to a deceased project, with not even a legible 
inscription to record its departed greatness," and by 
saying, * * such as it is, it is likely to remain. ' ' 

47 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

But Washington, instead of remaining what it was 
in the days of its youth, has become one of the most 
beautiful cities in the world, whose streets not only go 
somewhere, but lead through regions where visitors 
delight to follow; where beautiful houses are close to 
the ever-increasing number of stately public buildings ; 
where trees grow luxuriantly along the streets, and 
frequent parkways and convenient larger parks make 
their luring call ; where the sun shines with truly South- 
em persistence; where the Monument lifts its head 
high above those who seek the Mall and the Potomac 
beyond; where modern buildings keep company with 
old-time mansions like the White House or the Octagon 
House, in which Dolly Madison was mistress in the 
days after the destructive visit of the British in 1814. 

Washington is a city of pilgrims — pilgrims who 
come for a few years, for a single year, for a month, or, 
it may be, but for a day. Probably there are few loyal 
Americans who have not seen the city, or who are 
not looking forward to a visit to this national shrine 
on the Potomac, with its opportunities for side trips 
to Annapolis or Alexandria or Mount Vernon or Ar- 
lington. In season and out of season there are so many 
of these visitors that it is almost useless to think of 
asking a passer-by for directions; ten to one he will 
either anticipate the question by asking one of his own, 
or he will reply that he also is a stranger. 

No one should leave the vicinity of Washington 
without going also to Baltimore, the proud city on the 
Patapsco, fourteen miles from Chesapeake Bay, which 
has grown from a population of two hundred in 1752 
until now it is a candidate for inclusion before many 
years among cities with a million inhabitants. 

48 




IN THE HEART OF BALTIMORE, MARYLAND 
"Fifty Years" — A Contrast 



EASTERN SHORE AND THE CHESAPEAKE 

In this monumental city the structures erected to 
men of the past are companions for other monuments 
to modern industry, in the business centers, in the fac- 
tory districts, and in the streets where thousands of 
the homes of the people, lifting their red-brick fronts, 
tell of the prosperity of the Monarch of the ChesapeaJie, 
from whose spendid harbor go ships to all parts of 
the earth. 

Baltimore's river of the unusual name has good 
company along the Chesapeake and its tributaries. 
As the seaman sails down the two hundred miles 
toward the open ocean he will pass the Patuxent, the 
Choptank and the Potomac. And if he chooses to 
ascend the stream that will always be linked with the 
name of Washington, he will come to the Nomini, the 
Wicomico, the Yiocomico and the Piankatank, re- 
minders all of the Indians who looked on in wonder at 
the white men who came to this region in 1607 and 
afterwards, and then began the relentless drive that 
pushed back the red men of the forest to the mountains 
which proved a refuge only until later pioneers pene- 
trated these fastnesses also in the daring march to 
the West. 



CHAPTER IV 
UP THE WINDING JAMES 

OF all the streams that cut the Chesapeake Bay 
region in such interesting fashion, the one 
farthest south is the James, which opens di- 
rectly into Hampton Eoads, after its winding course 
almost entirely across the state. 

The James is the most historic and picturesque of 
all Virginia's rivers, and it is fortunate that the ride 
from its mouth to the head of navigation at Richmond 
can be taken by daylight. The diminutive steamer 
leaves Hampton Roads after an early breakfast, and 
all day long it moves with deliberation toward Rich- 
mond — grateful deliberation, for who wants to hurry 
over this stretch of water where every mile tells stories 
about the men and women who laid the foundations of 
the commonwealth and the nation! 

From the deck of the river steamer the low-lying 
shore offers little of appeal. Yet interest is kept alive 
by the knowledge that before long Jamestown Island 
will be seen, and by imagining the feelings of the brave 
men and women of the Susan, the Sarah Constant, the 
Goodspeed, and the Discovery, who faced maybe 
<<Tygers and Devouringe Creatures," and other dan- 
gers of which they knew as little in those old days 
of 1607. 

The boat is twenty-five miles on its way upstream 
when the marshes appear that fringe the island where 
these first settlers landed and built their town. 

50 



UP THE WINDING JAMES 

At first the island looks uncared for, but soon is 
noted the sea wall, built to stop the hungry river's 
appetite for the historic shore. Fortunately the boat 
stops at the pier long enough for the passengers to walk 
beyond the wall to all that is left of James Fort or 
James Town, the first permanent English settlement in 
America — the old church tower, with the excavation 
showing the outlines of the church, and the tombs of 
some of the ancient worthies. The ruin of a mansion, 
built long after the town was destroyed, and the Con- 
federate fort that dates from 1861, are about all that 
can be seen — until the imagination is permitted to con- 
jure up the picture of the streets, the homes, the men, 
the women and the children of the days before 
Bacon's Eebellion. 

Seven miles from the river, about due north from 
Jamestown, is the site of its successor, Williamsburg, 
the Colony's second capital. There it is not necessary 
to draw on the imagination, for the town is like a bit out 
of old England, with its streets shaded by great trees, 
its ancient William and Mary College, where Thomas 
Jefferson, James Monroe and John Tyler went to 
school; its Bruton Parish Church, built in 1715, though 
an earlier edifice stood on the site when Jamestown was 
still flourishing ; its Palace Green, that surrounded the 
home of the Governor; its court-house, whose stone 
steps were brought from England in 1762 ; its Powder 
House, where Virginia's supplies of powder were kept, 
beginning in 1714 ; its tavern, and its many houses that 
tell of men who dared all for liberty and of women 
who were one with them in their devotion. 

The captain of the river steamer is accommodating, 
but he does not promise to wait while the excursion is 

51 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

taken to Williamsburg ; he is ready to go on upstream 
toward Carter's Grove, built by Carter Burwell in 
1751; Brandon, with its wonderful garden, an estate 
occupied since the days of John Smith; Westover, a 
mansion that has survived the careless handling of 
soldiers during two wars ; and, near the mouth of the 
Appomattox, Shirley, the ancient home of the Carters. 

Theodore Roosevelt called Westover, Brandon and 
Shirley * * three of the dearest places you can imagine, ' ' 
and added, ''I do not know whether I loved most the 
places themselves or the quaint out-of-the-world Vir- 
ginia gentlewomen there." But the same thing might 
be said of a dozen other old-time houses that peep out 
among the trees along the river or are hidden up some 
of the creeks that enter the stream. 

Near Riclimond is the Dutch Gap Canal, first cut by 
Sir Thomas Dale when Jamestown was in its glory. 
To protect his new settlement Henrico from the In- 
dians, he cut across a narrow peninsula and then 
built fortifications. Two hundred years later General 
Butler spent five months in enlarging the old ditch. It 
was a gigantic task; 67,000 yards of earth were re- 
moved, in spite of a bitter fire from Confederate mor- 
tars. The work was completed by the Government in 
1879, to the joy of the steamboat-men, who were thus 
saved seven miles of difficult river travel. 

The canal was not cut when William Wirt told 
delightedly of Richmond, * ' the to%\ai disposed over hills 
of various shapes, the river descending from west to 
east, and obstructed by a multitude of small islands, 
clumps of trees and myriads of rocks — the same river, 
at the lower end of the towm, bending at right angles to 
the south and traveling many miles in that direction. ' * 

52 




CHIEF JUSTICE MARSHALL'S RESIDENCE, RICHMOND, VIRGINIA 




THE OLD COURT HOUSE AT WILLIAMSBURG 
Erected 1769 



UP THE WINDING JAMES 

He called the prospect from the heights above the city, 
**one of the most finely-varied and most animated land- 
scapes I have ever seen." 

The charm of Eichmond is cumulative. To see it 
once is to admire it ; to see it a second time is to rejoice 
in it ; to see it a third time is to love it. And it is dif- 
ficult to tell in what is the greatest appeal. To some 
it is the wide view of city and river of which Wirt 
spoke; to others, it is the Capitol Square, on a hill in 
the heart of the city, whose crown is the building de- 
signed by Thomas Jefferson from the Maison Quarre 
at Nismes ; still others find it in mansions like the White 
House of the Confederacy, the Jolin Marshall House 
and the Archer House, or in St. John's Church, where 
Patrick Henry shouted, ''Give me liberty or give 
me death." 

But whatever is given as the secret, this city by the 
rock-bound Falls of the James, this capital of the 
Commonwealth from which so many Presidents came, 
will always be to many people the central city of the 
South, the standard by which to measure what is most 
desirable in civic life. 

The advantages of Eichmond appealed to George 
Washington long before the Eevolution, but not until 
after the close of the struggle was he able to show how 
practical was his interest. Then he began to think of 
the improvement of the James Eiver. The projects 
in which he was keenly interested were two: First, 
there was the James Eiver Canal, a series of twelve 
locks to connect the river with a basin at Eichmond, 880 
feet above tidewater; from the basin a canal two and 
one-half miles long to the river ; and, farther on, a sec- 
ond short canal, with lock, around a fall of 34 feet. 

53 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

The second project became ultimately the James 
Eiver and Kanawha Canal and Railroad, which was not 
actually begun until 1835. The whole length of the canal 
and railroad, when completed to the Ohio, was to be 
about 425 miles. 

The canal was in use for many years for both pas- 
senger packets and cargo craft. The last of the 
packets was the Marshall, which carried the body of 
Stonewall Jackson from Richmond to Lexington. 

To-day the Chesapeake and Ohio Railroad, the suc- 
cessor of the canal, follows the James all the way to 
Lynchburg, in many places occupying the old tow- 
path. From Lynchburg it proceeds to a junction with 
the Ohio River at Kenova, not far from the mouth of 
the Kanawha, the objective point of the early ambitious 
canal and railroad scheme. 

For a portion of the distance to Lynchburg there is 
a fair automobile road, but for the greater part of the 
way the railroad must be depended on, as it leads 
through some of the Old Dominion's most glorious 
scenery and within easy reach of some of the homes 
and haunts of those who helped to make her history 
and the history of the nation. 

Chesterfield County, first to the south after Rich- 
mond is left behind, is full of the relics of other days. 
There is the country known as the site of the first iron 
works in America, which have long since disappeared ; 
these were built at the mouth of Falling Creek, which 
enters the James south of Richmond. The furnace 
depended on the coal mines at Midlothian, the first of 
them opened as early as 1730. Traces of the old pits 
are still to be noted. The fuel was used also at Chester- 
field Court House, built in 1749, where, in 1779, George 

64 



UP THE WINDING JAMES 

Eogers Clark brought Hamilton, British Governor of 
Detroit, as a prisoner of war. Perhaps this was the 
reason for the burning of the building by the British 
troops in 1781. Fortunately the walls were not de- 
stroyed, and it was possible to reconstruct the edifice. 

Another reminder of the heroes of the War of the 
Revolution is Salisbury, near Midlothian, where Pat- 
rick Henry made his home while governor of Virginia. 
The journey to and from Richmond must have been 
dijG&cult in those days, but Henry continued to reside 
there until his landlord sold the property over his head. 

The landlord, Thomas Mann Randolph, lived at 
Tuckahoe in Goochland County, a few miles north, 
across the James. The famous mansion which was his 
home was built by his father, Thomas Randolph, in the 
early years of the eighteenth century. At his death he 
directed that a tutor should come to Tuckahoe to care 
for his son. Peter Jefferson, whose wife was a relative 
of the new owner of the property, was appointed tutor, 
and when he came to Tuckahoe he brought with him his 
son Thomas. Thus it came about that Thomas Jeffer- 
son went to school on the plantation. The best of it is 
that the old school-house which the author of the Dec- 
laration of Independence attended is still standing, 
perhaps the most interesting feature of the plantation, 
whose mansion, surrounded by one of the famous laby- 
rinth gardens of old Virginia, is to be seen from the 
river, peeping through the trees. 

At Cartersville, in Cumberland County, General 
Robert E. Lee, with his family, landed in 1865 from 
a packet boat on the canal and went six miles south to 
Oakland, one of the most famous of the estates on the 

55 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

upper James. While in the neighborhood he received 
the visitors from Lexington who asked him to become 
president of Washington College. At Oakland one of 
the General's chief delights was to stroll under the 
grove of monster oaks, some of which were more than 
twenty feet in circumference. Unfortunately, these 
trees were damaged by fire wliich, in 1900, destroyed the 
mansion that was built about 1740 in the midst of land 
granted by George IT to ''Bowler Cocke, Gentleman." 

One of the early settlers who dared to push on up 
the James was attracted by the rocky precipice on the 
Goochland County side, not far from Cartersville. 
Here Tarleton Fleming built his home at such an early 
date that in 1732 Colonel William Byrd was able to 
speak of meeting, at Tuckahoe, Mrs. Fleming, *'on her 
way to join her husband at Rock Castle, thirty miles 
farther up the river in a part of the country little set- 
tled, and but lately redeemed from the wilderness. ' * 

Many other pioneers who followed the Flemings up 
the storied river have left the records of their home- 
building along the banks of the stream, all the way to 
Lynchburg and even beyond. But the house that is 
dearest of all to the hearts of loyal Americans was 
made by the boy who went to school at Tuckahoe, 
Thomas Jefferson, who was born in Albemarle County, 
some miles north of the James. He took such delight 
in the hills and valleys that here, when Shadwell was 
burned, he built Monticello near by. The site was 
chosen because of the wonderful view from the summit 
of the sugar-loaf mountain above the Rivanna. There 
the forest trees were cut do^vn and, ten acres being 
cleared and levelled, the mansion was erected after 
Jefferson's own plans. 
56 




MONTIC'ELLO, NEAR CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA 
The home of Thomas Jefferson. Designed by himself 




THREE SISTERS MOUNTAINS, VIRGINIA 



UP THE WINDING JAMES 

The eminence chosen by the man who became the 
Sage of Monticello is a point of the ridge known as the 
Southwest Mountains of Virginia, which extend 
through the heart of Albemarle County to the James. 
These rugged hills, the highest of them known as 
Peter's Mount, for the father of Thomas Jefferson, was 
long the western limit of civilization. 

It was one of Jefferson's chief joys to look off to 
the Blue Ridge, more than twenty miles to the west. 
Another delight was to direct the construction of his 
estate, which he declared was ''the garden spot of 
Virginia, where the season is two or three weeks in 
advance of the level country near at hand. ' ' 

From the southeast comer of the terrace at Monti- 
cello he was accustomed to watch the workinen engaged 
on the first buildings of the University of Virginia, 
buildings also planned by himself. In 1825 he had the 
keen pleasure of going down from Monticello to the 
opening of this child of his heart. 

The prospect from the terrace became even dearer 
to Jefferson during the months he was still to pass 
there before his death in 1826. Often his eyes turned 
to the south where the James swept down with steadily 
increasing flow from Ljmchburg, the city ''set upon 
seven hills of a most unnecessary steepness," as one 
visitor has said, with humor that revealed his affec- 
tion for the thriving city of beautiful homes and busy 
mills and factories. One of the assets of the city is 
the natural water power so generously supplied by 
the river narrowed by confining cliffs that add to the 
picturesqueness of the surroundings. 

The river becomes wider as the ascent is made 
toward Natural Bridge, part of the way through the 

67 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

heart of the Natural Bridge National Forest. On either 
side are summits of the Blue Ridge, while rocks and 
springs and mountain roads invite on eveiy hand. 
Near Glasgow, Balcony Falls gives further promise of 
what is in store for those who leave the river, the turn- 
pike and the railroad and follow the fifty miles of 
well-graded trails — a foretaste of what the Forest 
Sem^ice plans to do for the pleasure of the people who 
own the forest area. 

Some of the trails lead along the near summit of 
the Blue Bidge, which divides the forest from north 
to south. Along this dividing line are some of the most 
beautiful peaks east of the Rockies. Go to the Peaks 
of Otter or Apple Orchard Mountain or Thunder Hill 
or Arnold Valley — or, better, go to them all. Look as 
opportunity offers down at the valley of the James, 
far below. Take a side trip to Natural Bridge. Then 
see if you will not either have to lengthen your vaca- 
tion or come back another year to go on with what 
you have only begun ! 

A rival of Balcony Falls, the introduction to the 
beauties of the Natural Bridge Forest to those who 
come by the James River route, is Augusta Springs in 
Augusta County, where the Forest Department plans 
to extend the Natural Bridge vacation area. There are 
many falls in America, but nowhere is there a series 
of falls like Augusta Springs, on the upper sources of 
the North Fork of the James. Jefferson feasted his 
eyes on the long leap of the waters from the rock, fol- 
lowed by the scores of smaller falls over the boulders 
below, and modern visitors follow him in their delight 
at the inspiring sight, which seems a combination of a 
Yosemite fall and a Yellowstone cascade. 

58 



UP THE WINDING JAMES 

What a National Park this section of Virginia would 
make ! It would take in the marvelous series of springs 
that dot the country to the west and southwest of 
Augusta Springs — ^Warm Springs, and Hot Springs, 
Healing Springs and Millboro Springs, Eockbridge 
Alum Springs, and Sweet Chalybeate Springs, Virginia 
Hot Springs and Stribling Springs — ^yes, and more, too 
— springs that lured early health-seekers into the heart 
of the Blue Ridge and beyond, and made social centers 
even of White Sulphur Springs and Old Sweet Springs 
in what is now West Virginia. 

More than a century ago travelers began to toil to 
these life-giving springs, and feasted their soruls on 
the inspiring reaches of mountain and forest and river 
that led to them and are seen from them, and every 
year for generations since these pioneers have had their 
successors. By rail, by stage and by motor they come. 
They rejoice in the air, the mountains and the green 
growth everywhere. They turn, it may be to fish in 
the rushing streams or to hunt in the coverts nature 
has provided with prodigal hand. And they wonder 
why men do not seek this easily-found ''Switzerland 
of America." 



CHAPTER V 

THROUGH THE HEART OF NORTH CAROLINA 

IT is good to travel through North Carolina, but it 
is better still to remain a while in this land of 
sturdy men and smiling women, where the flowers 
bloom profusely and the cotton grows luxuriantly; 
where a man on horseback is not a novelty; where al- 
most every house, small or large, has its inviting porch 
or verandah, sometimes seemingly out of all propor- 
tion to the size of the building; where the high-power 
electric lines that feed the cotton mills and other manu- 
facturing establishments tell of the tremendous hydro- 
electric development in a country bountifully supplied 
with streams that hurry down from the mountains to 
the plateau and then to the sea. 

Though many of the rivers are navigable for a long 
distance from their mouths the obstacle-conquering 
Carolinians many years ago made up their minds that 
they must have other means of transportation, and of 
the best. So they not only talked of good roads, but 
they began valiantly to improve country highways. In 
fact, the state is a splendid advertisement for good 
roads, not only because it has hundreds of miles of fine 
macadam pavement, but because, on a rainy day, it has 
so many samples of the slippery, slimy, slovenly red 
and yellow clay roads that the smooth, hard pave- 
ments — steadily increasing in number — seem all the 
more delightful by contrast. And the best of it is that 
there is constant evidence of a definite program of road 

60 



THE HEART OF NORTH CAROLINA 

improvement. To a motorist there is something grati- 
fying, inspiring in the sight of a road roller — that is, 
unless it stands straight across his path with the stern 
mandate, ''Detour," and he has no alternative but one 
of the aforementioned slippery, slimy roads of clay. 

But even on a rainy day the hill country of Western 
North Carolina well repays the traveler who keeps 
both eyes open. Green slopes and pleasant valleys are 
every^^here. Most unexpectedly the way leads to at- 
tractively named streams, whose red floods call up 
long-forgotten memories of school days when the 
teacher's stem request, ''Name three rivers of North 
Carolina," caused a sinking sensation in the region 
of the ribs. Why couldn't we remember the Yadkin, 
that reluctantly leaves the mountains and then twists 
and turns in astonishing fashion as if eager to form a 
boundary of as many counties as possible? Why 
should the Catawba elude us when it is anything but 
elusive in this country of the hills 1 Surely Deep River 
is easily remembered, if only because another name 
might seem truer to the facts ! 

But rivers supply only a portion of the pleasures 
of those who are determined to see things even on a 
rainy day. Everywhere are villages and towns where 
there is perhaps a greater contrast than in the average 
towns of the north between the homes of the poor and 
those of the well-to-do, many of the latter having the 
great portico whose white columns speak eloquently 
of the fact that those who live there have not forgotten 
the traditions of old-time Southern hospitality. Here 
and there the bright lights of the cotton mills and the 
muffled noise of the spindles tell of the industry that is 
doing its part for the continued development of a pro- 

61 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

gressive state. Beyond the cotton mills lie the rem- 
nants of forests of other days, where deciduous trees 
mingle with the graceful pines. The junior pines creep 
out to the roadside and help the luxuriant vines to 
clothe with green banks whose staring surface of red 
earth might in time prove disconcerting. 

The pleasure given by those North Carolina hills 
is all the greater because they insist on bringing up 
memories of the men and women of the past, the hardy 
settlers who pushed on from the seacoast because they 
would conquer the wilderness, who were a strong tower 
in the darkest days of the Eevolution, who supplied 
numbers of pioneers in the mountain-crossing, dis- 
tance-defying, hardship-conquering days of the col- 
onization of the western wilderness. 

In its diagonal course across South Carolina, all 
the way from the Dan River to- King's Mountain, the 
Southern Railway traverses a region that, in addition 
to being notable for real beauty, is steeped in the lore 
of these heroic days of long ago. On the Dan, just 
over the line in Virginia, is Danville, where General 
Nathanael Greene crossed in 1781, while to the south- 
west, near Greensboro, is the site of Guilford Court 
House, where the troops of Lord Comwallis were de- 
feated on March 15 of that year by the men under 
General Greene. Thus was added another triumph to 
the credit of the Colonies, which began to take heart 
once more. In consequence of events like this, John 
Adams wrote to Benjamin Franklin, "I think the 
Southern States will have the honor, after all, of put- 
ting us in the right way of finishing the business of 
the war." 

Almost directly west of the battle-ground in Guil- 

62 




THE OLD CABIN HOME 




RAZOR BACK HOGS IN NORTH CAROLINA 



THE HEART OP NORTH CAROLINA 

ford County that did so much to turn the tide of the 
Revolution is Winston-Salem, a thriving city in the 
midst of a prosperous and picturesque country, whose 
romantic history goes back a generation before the 
days of Greene and Cornwallis. In the fall of 1752 
the Moravian Bishop Spangenburg looked for a home 
where his followers could live in peace and labor for 
the Indians, and came to the North Carolina wilder- 
ness, journeying from Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. 
Charmed by the region of which Winston-Salem is now 
the metropolis, he bought a section about ten miles 
square, and arranged for the residence of hundreds 
of Moravians in what was later called Wachovia. 

The story of the journey of the first inhabitants 
from their Pennsylvania home is an epic worthy of 
more detailed treatment than the matter-of-fact history 
of Wachovia gives to it. After crossing the Susque- 
liamia and the Potomac, they came down the Shenan- 
doah to Augusta Court House (now Staunton), thus 
becoming forerunners in a score of movements to and 
fro in this favored region, each of which has had its 
part in the history of the nation. The way became even 
more difficult as they followed the course of the Mayo 
to the Dan and on to the border of Wachovia, their 
promised land. 

That sounds simple enough. Very likely such a 
journey would be simple to-day. But in those days of 
unbroken forests and unbridged streams progress was 
far from easy. The hills were too steep for the heavily- 
laden wagons, and it was necessary for the men to 
carry the loads up the slopes while the empty vehicles 
followed carefully. Even the descent was a problem 
that found no solution until the resourceful pioneers 

63 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

devised a way to retard the loaded wagons; locked 
wheels were assisted by a dragging tree cut from the 
forest and fastened to the rear of each wagon. 

The short, rainy days of November, 1753, came be- 
fore the long journey was done. Cold and hunger 
added to the burdens of tlue pilgrims. However, all 
hardships were soon forgotten in the joy of making the 
wilderness fruitful. The twentieth century visitor is 
reminded of the struggles as he passes through Beth- 
ania, or hears of Bethabara, the first town, older than 
Salem by a number of years. 

Salem, founded in 1766 in the heart of their hold- 
ings, speedily became a center of primitive manufac- 
tures that fed the remarkable wagon commerce 
directed toward centers as far away as Charleston, 
South Carolina. 

Salem was a year old when Governor Try on turned 
curious steps to Wachovia, but he was entertained at 
Bethabara. While there he urged the sending of a 
representative to the legislature, and foraied such a 
high opinion of the colony within a colony that, when 
discontented Regulators, defeated at the Alamance in 
their efforts to oppose him, fled to Wachovia for refuge, 
he refused to take vengeance on the Moravians, though 
there were not lacking those who questioned their loy- 
alty. Later, under guard of three thousand soldiers, 
he watched the trial of the fugitives, many of whom 
took the oath of allegiance and were pardoned. 

In 1849 Salem gained as neighbor the town of Win- 
ston, founded as the county-seat of the new county of 
Forsyth, on fifty-one acres sold for this purpose by the 
Moravians at five dollars per acre. Both towns grew 
rapidly, and in 1913 they became Winston-Salem, a city 

64 



THE HEART OF NORTH CAROLINA 

whose growth is no more remarkable than the phenom- 
enal activity of its business and industrial section or 
the dignified beauty and stately repose of the old 
Moravian town. 

But the visitor to this section of North Carolina is 
not through treading on historic ground when he goes 
to the south of Winston-Salem and Guilford Court 
House. For not far away is Rowan County, famious 
for the women associated during the Revolution under 
pledge **not to receive the addresses of any young gen- 
tlemen . . . the ladies being of opinion that such 
persons as stay loitering at home, when the important 
calls of their country demand their military service 
abroad, must certainly be destitute of that nobleness of 
sentiment, that brave, manly spirit which would qual- 
ify them to be the defenders and guardians of the 
fair sex." 

Still farther south is sturdy Charlotte, in Mecklen- 
burg, where, on May 20, 1775, following the battle of 
Lexington, that famous document, the Mecklenburg 
Declaration, was adopted, more than a year before the 
Declaration of Independence was signed. In this bold 
paper the citizens of Mecklenburg declared that they 
**do hereby dissolve the political bonds which have con- 
nected us to the Mother Country. ' ' Then they went a 
step further, by declaring themselves *'a free and in- 
dependent people. ' * 

In Charlotte they point out the spot where the 
patriots gathered to frame their resolution — Indepen- 
dence Square, at the intersection of two of the princi- 
pal streets. Not far away are the old oaks that mark 
the site of the headquarters of Lord Comwallis, who 
honored the citizens of Mecklenburg by calling them 

S 65 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

Hornets, and gave double honor to Charlotte by speak- 
ing of it as "The Hornets' Nest." Both sites are 
centers of special interest annually on May 20, which 
is a state holiday to celebrate the action of the Hornets 
in resisting oppression. 

While Charlotte is proud of her past, her people 
rejoice in a present of unexampled prosperity. Their 
claim that their city — ^whose growth from comparative 
insignificance has been a matter of but fifteen years — is 
"the commercial center of the two Carolinas" has a 
substantial basis. Certainly the cotton mills and the 
hydro-electric development of which the city is the 
center make the community remarkable; so do the 
homes, both modest and pretentious, that bear witness 
to her statement that she has more home-owners in 
proportion to population than any other city in 
the country. 

Charlotte does not divide honors with any neighbor 
because of commercial development, but in historic mat- 
ters she has a worthy associate a little to the west — 
King's Mountain, where, in 1780, the spirited frontiers- 
men, after their forced march over the mountains, as 
noted in another chapter, faced the surprised Major 
Ferguson, who had defied them, and taught him to re- 
spect men who were fighting for home and country. 

Altogether North Carolina has a tremendous past 
to live up to — and she can do it. Hers has always been 
a history of earnestness and devotion, not only during 
the days of the Revolution, but in the trying days of 
the sixties — days that inspired the memorable words 
of President Taft: 

"I would not have the South give up a single one 
of her noble traditions. I would not have her abate 

66 



THE HEART OF NORTH CAROLINA 

a single bit of the deep pride she feels in all her great 
heroes that represented her in that awful struggle be- 
tween the North and the South ; but I would have the 
whole country know, as I believe the South is growing 
herself to know, that it is possible to preserve all these 
traditions intact and have a warm and deeply loyal 
love of the old flag to which she has come back, and to 
know that the North respects her for those traditions 
she preserves, and does not ask her to discard one ; but 
only wishes to unite with her in the benefits of a com- 
mon cause, and of a sympathy and association between 
the peoples of the two sections that will certainly lead 
us to a greater and greater future. ' * 

Yet this is the region where a youth of seventeen, 
wise in his own eyes, said wearily, as he looked from 
the car window : ''Let it rain ; there is nothing to see in 
this country anyway. IVe been over it half a dozen 
times, and it is too monotonous for words." 

There are people who can magnificently, completely 
fail to see anything attractive, even in North Carolina ! 



CHAPTER VI 
" THE LAND OF THE SKY " 

THOSE who wonder why the Cherokee Indians 
resisted so strenuously all efforts to remove 
them from the western part of North Carolina 
need only to make a visit to that glorious region where 
everything combines in bewildering fashion to make the 
renowned Sapphire Country. A score of counties in 
the state, together with a small region in East Ten- 
nessee, and a little finger of territory in Georgia and 
South Carolina, constitute this territory that is one 
of the marvels of America. It is a table-land, between 
the Blue Ridge and the Unaka or Great Smoky Moun- 
tains, crossed by tributary ranges and crowned by 
majestic peaks. It is a labyrinth of brawling brooks 
and leaping rivers that come from the springs on the 
mountain side, flow restlessly along valleys and gorges, 
and force their way through rocky barriers in titanic 
gaps. It is a great park where grows nearly every 
variety of wood known east of the Rocky Mountains, 
as well as a bewildering array of plants and shrubs — 
ferns in bountiful profusion, laurel in groves, rhododen- 
dron in thickets, azaleas in numbers undreamed of. It 
is a hunting ground where the sportsman will leap for 
joy, and a fishing territory of boundless wealth. It is 
a vast pleasure area of such infinite variety and com- 
pelling charm that it seems strange its fame does not 
draw a hundred people for ever>^ one who now enters 
its borders. It is a compact area of a few thousand 

68 



THE LAND OF THE SKY 

square miles where there are peaks yet unclimbed, 
gorges still unknown to the explorer, valleys hidden 
away among the mountains and visited only by a few. 

Most people, if asked about the location of the high- 
est region east of the Rockies, would be apt to speak of 
the White Mountains. But in the Southern Appala- 
chians, according to the United States Geological Sur- 
vey, ''two hundred and eighty-eight peaks exceed a 
height of five thousand feet, and twenty-seven peaks 
have an elevation greater than Mount Washington 
(6293 feet)." Of the twenty-five peaks in the Black 
Mountains, eighteen are more than six thousand feet 
high. There are in the Balsam Mountains twenty-three 
summits exceeding six thousand feet. There are other 
ranges of not much less altitude. And the outlook from 
the heights and in the valleys between is something, once 
seen, to be remembered always. To quote once more 
the words of the investigators of the Geological Sur- 
vey : * ' The scenery of the Southern Appalachian region 
is the grandest in the Eastern States. While in height 
the mountains can hardly be compared with the Rockies 
or the Alps, they far outstrip in height, massiveness 
and extent the mountains of the Northeastern States. 
As one ascends Roan Mountain or Grandfather Moun- 
tain, or passes through Hickory Nut Gap, he is strongly 
reminded of the scenery of Switzerland, and might well 
imagine that he was on the Rigi or the Pilatus. ' ' 

That the superb appeal of the region may continue, 
and the number of visitors attracted to it increase, the 
Government has taken steps to protect the water- 
courses, to show to those who delight to follow the mys- 
terious trail the way to the mountain fastnesses, and to 
make easy the progress of those who choose a less 

69 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

strenuous method of visiting the heights. Congress has 
set apart as the Appalachian Park Eeserve a region to 
which Asheville is the gateway, has created nine or ten 
national forests — of which the Boone, the Mount 
Mitchell, the Pisgah, and the Nantahala are in North 
Carolina — and is carrying out a program of road con- 
struction that will, in time, afford access to spots that 
now are remote and difficult of approach. 

Not so long ago few attempted to reach this moun- 
tain territory except from the east or the south, and 
still the first thought of those who plan the journey of 
untold delight is apt to be to follow in the steps of the 
pioneer, where the railroad long ago replaced the stage- 
coach. But those who wish to steal into the heart of 
the mountains from a new direction should start from 
Elkhom City, Kentucky, close to the border of Vir- 
ginia, on the delightful Carolina, Clinchfield and Ohio 
Railway. The route leads across the Cumberland 
Mountains, and then through the Clinch Mountains to 
Johnson City, Tennessee, where the East Teimessee 
and Western North Carolina Railroad and the Linville 
River Railway may be taken to the left, or the journey 
may be continued on the Clinchfield road. If there is 
time, both roads should be used; it is impossible to 
choose between the visions that greet the passenger 
along these routes. The Clinchfield road keeps close 
to the rugged trail of Daniel Boone, first along the 
Noli'chucky River, then up the narrow gorge of the Doe 
River. The road to the Linville River passes at once 
into historic ground. For ten miles from Johnson City 
the way is along the Watauga River, coming at length 
to Elizabethton, where Andrew Jackson, under a 
spreading sycamore tree, held the first sessions of the 

70 



THE LAND OF THE SKY 

Supreme Court of Tennessee. Three miles from the 
same town were bom the Taylor brothers, Alf 
and Bob, once rival candidates for the governorship 
of Tennessee. 

Then comes the great gorge where the Doe has cut 
its way through the rock to a depth of hundreds of feet. 
For a distance of five miles the view from the window 
of the train is down to the rushing stream below or up 
the ahnost precipitous side of the canyon to the 
blue sky. 

Far above the Doe, Eoan Mountain, on the border 
between North Carolina and Tennessee, lifts its bald 
top, marked by the absence of the trees that clothe it 
almost to the summit. Those who persevere in their 
purpose to reach the height may look out into the won- 
derful Valley of East Tennessee, a continuation of the 
Valley of Virginia, drained by the winding Holston. 
To eastward there is a panorama of valley and moun- 
tain, of mountain beyond mountain, a panorama so 
wealthy that the beholder does not require much imagi- 
nation to decide that he can see far away to the locality 
where mountains become hills, where hills become mere 
slopes, all the way to Pilot Mountain in Surry County, 
the strange formation that seems like a last attempt of 
the Blue Eidge to triumph over the valleys. 

To the west and the south of Roan Mountain is a 
region of riches for the lover of nature as well as for 
the student of history. Down in Burke County is Lin- 
ville Falls, where the Linville, tributary of the Catawba., 
leaps over a precipice after crowding through a narrow 
passage. Not far away, Altapass rests on a spur of 
Old Humpback Mountain, while to the north Grand- 
father Mountain rises, as one traveler said, like the 

71 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

pommel of a saddle. Linville Gap is the seat of the 
saddle, while the rear of the saddle is formed by the 
lower heights of Dunvegan. The region is all the more 
remarkable because, within a few rods of one another, 
are the headwaters of the Watauga and the Linville. 
The latter stream enters the Catawba, then goes by way 
of the Wateree and the Santee to the Atlantic, while 
the former proceeds through the Holston and the Ten- 
nessee to the Ohio and the Mississippi and the Gulf 
of Mexico. 

From the slopes of Grandfather Mountain come 
other streams. On the north slope are the headwaters 
of the South Fork of New River, which flows through 
Virginia and on into West Virginia, and to the Ohio 
River. On the southern slopes are the beginnings of 
the Yadkin, which, in South Carolina, becomes the 
Peedee River. 

Out of the rock on the south side of Grandfather 
has been cut a portion of the famous Yonahlossee Road, 
from Linville to Blowing Rock, a distance of about 
eighteen miles, all at an elevation of from four to five 
thousand feet. Along the way the view is tremendously 
impressive, but perhaps the most outstanding features 
are the two falls in Green Mountain Creek, above and 
below the road, and the Leaning Rock, which rises to a 
height of about one hundred feet, in three blocks, look- 
ing as if they had been poised one on the other. A great 
crack in the top section is noticeable as far as the 
rocks can be seen. 

The town of Blowing Rock, east of Grandfather, be- 
cause of its altitude of 4090 feet, can boast of being 
the highest town in the state. But its people prefer 
to talk of the Tryon Mountain and Grandfather, of 

72 



THE LAND OF THE SKY 

Hawk's Bill and Table Rock, and the Lost Cliffs, as 
well as of the scores of dips and swales that come be- 
tween the heights. The town takes its name from the 
Blowing Rock, a cliff whose configuration is such that 
when the northwest wind blows one may throw over 
the edge his hat or his coat and it will be blown back. 

Much of the country is as wild as it was in the days 
of the wilderness-breakers who pushed through these 
mountains on their triumphant way to Tennessee and 
Kentucky. Like the Indians, they followed the course 
of the streams. The French Broad was a favorite with 
these early travelers, and it has since been chosen by 
railway engineers, and is now sought by vacation- 
seekers, who may trace the road's windings for sixty- 
five miles from Newport, Tennessee, to Asheville; from 
the Valley of East Tennessee to the heart of the Land 
of the Sky ; along smiling valleys ; among the ambitious 
green foothills; across yawning chasms; steadily up, 
up, up, to a point where there is a gratifying view to the 
south of the sky-piercing peaks of the Great Smoky 
Mountains. Just before the North Carolina line is 
crossed it threads five miles of twisting, climbing curves 
that seem to have entered into a conspiracy as to which 
can give the traveler the best glimpse of valley and 
stream and mountain. 

The crossing of the line is made memorable by the 
sight of Paint Rock, the overhanging formation, bril- 
liant and varied, that seems to threaten all who pass 
beneath. Ten miles to the south The Chimneys, twice 
as high as Paint Rock, lift their strangely-formed heads 
to the sky. From this point it is difficult to resist longer 
the lofty barrier of the Great Smokies that stretches 
southwest sixty-five miles, down to the gap through 

73 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

which the Little Tennessee finds its way. In the entire 
distance there is but one peak lower than five thousand 
feet; this is where the Big Pigeon sweeps to the south 
to its meeting with the French Broad near Newport. 
In this range there are nineteen peaks more than six 
thousand feet high, while fourteen others approach 
within four hundred feet of this figure. 

The range is distinguished by the bald summits of 
many of the peaks. The balsams grow to within a short 
distance of the top. Then, as if the wind had triumphed 
over them, they give way to the luxuriant grass- 
meadows, some of these as large as a thousand acres. 

The greatest bald of all is Clingman's Dome. Its 
6660-foot summit offers a tremendous prospect wher- 
ever the beholder turns. To the north is the Valley 
of East Tennessee, where the French Broad and the 
Holston reign among the hills and along the uplands, 
where fertile farms and inviting villages dot the land- 
scape. Away to the east and northeast are the Bald, the 
Black, the Balsam, the Cowie and the Nantahala ranges, 
while to the south Tuckaseegee Eiver, Nantahala 
Eiver and the Little Tennessee wind back into the mys- 
terious region down toward the South Carolina border. 

In the country to the south the Cherokees made their 
last stand. When their efforts to resist removal proved 
in vain, a number of forts were built where they were 
to be counted. Fort Scott was at Aquone, on the east 
bank of the upper Nantahala, while Fort Lindsay was 
at Almond, where that river joins the Little Tennessee. 
Some of the braves, together with their squaws, were 
taken to Fort Hembrie, on a branch of Tusquitee Creek. 
Others were taken to Fort Montgomery on Long Creek, 
or to Fort Butler out on Valley Eiver. 
74 



THE LAND OF THE SKY 

There was also a stockade where the Tuckaseegee 
encounters the Little Tennessee. It is still a tradition 
in the neighborhood that to this stronghold were taken 
Tsali, or Charley, an old Cherokee brave, together with 
a number of his relatives — men, women and children. 
The squaws managed to secrete knives and hatchets. 
Next day, when they had gone down the Little Ten- 
nessee as far as the mouth of Tuskeegee Creek, the con- 
cealed weapons were used on the soldiers with deadly 
effect. In the confusion the captives escaped into the 
recesses of the Great Smoky Mountains. 

Two versions are given of the sequel. One tells of 
the capture and death of Tsali, after a long pursuit; 
the other says that the authorities promised a leader 
of the Indians that if he would give up Tsali and his 
band, he, with his company of about one thousand 
Cherokees, would be permitted to remain in the country 
they were so loth to yield. Learning of this proposition, 
Tsali gave himself up for the benefit of his people. 
Authorities at Washington have been asked to verify 
this story. It is said that they feel it impossible to 
deny it or to confirm it. So why not believe it, as a fit- 
ting explanation of the presence in these mountain 
fastnesses of fifteen hundred or two thousand Indians, 
some of whom live on the Soco Reservation, while all 
are *'at once wards of the Government, citizens of the 
United States and (in North Carolina) a corporate 
body under state laws ' ' ? 

The convenient railroad makes easy the journey 
from Murphy, near the southwest comer of North 
Carolina, more than one hundred and twenty miles to 
Asheville, through some of the wildest country in the 
old Indian hunting grounds. For a long distance the 

75 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

tracks are laid close to the Valley River, through the 
beautiful Vale of Konnahecta, as the Cherokees called 
it. From the car window the country looks so inviting 
that one wants to go back into the interior. But it is 
the part of wisdom for the fisherman or the tramper to 
take with him an experienced guide through these wild 
gorges, to the creeks where the trout respond with zest 
to the alluring fly, or on to Toanna Bald or South 
Weatherman's Bald or Mount Tuni. 

Think of a climb of nine hundred feet in nine miles, 
with a hundred visions to every mile ! That climb leads 
to the headwaters of Valley River, which are separated 
from the Nantahala River by a ridge of the Balsam 
Mountains. On the other side of the ridge there is a 
bewildering succession of river crossings and tunnels 
that draw the curtain on one superb picture only to 
raise it in a few moment on one still more superb. And 
mountains like Cheowah Bald, Steecock Bald, Wesser 
Bald, Welsh Bald and the High Rocks near Bushnell, 
where Tsali began his last journey into the heights ! 

Along the road to Waynesville numerous trails lead 
into the mountains. Balsam, the highest point reached 
by any railroad east of the Mississippi, is notable also 
as a starting point for trails to Balsam Gap, Plott Bal- 
sam, Jones Knob, Steestachee Bald, Licklog Gap, Can- 
sey Fork Bald, and Judy KuUa, the highest summit in 
the Richland Balsams, which offers a view that is 
famous. How the mere names of these heights sing 
their way into the heart ! 

For the lover of the trail who likes to go still farther 
afield there is a rare opportunity to the south of Bal- 
sam, down to the headwaters of Caney Fork, between 
the Pisgah Ridge and the Tennessee Ridge — the two 

76 



THE LAND OF THE SKY 

branches into which the Balsam Eange divides — to Lake 
Toxaway. This is not an easy trip, and it should be 
made only in the company of a competent guide. But 
what a background it will give for the lasting pictures 
of the Sapphire Country ! 

The Lake Toxaway region has been called ''the 
crowning glory of a land of loveliness." Three thou- 
sand feet above the sea, surrounded by mountains, mir- 
roring in its placid depths the azure sky, the green 
slopes and the rocky precipices, lie Lakes Toxaway, 
Fairfield and Sapphire — three crystal gems set in the 
diadem of North Carolina. 

The outlet of Lake Toxaway is Toxaway River, 
notable for the 400-foot fall of the water from the lake 
to the level of the stream. From its banks Mount Tox- 
away may be reached by a trail that leads directly to a 
lodge that appeals to many even more than the hotels 
in and near the town. This mountain resort, two thou- 
sand feet above the lake, is noted because it makes pos- 
sible a stay of days in a spot from which one can see 
scores of towering summits — Mt. Pisgah, close to Ashe- 
ville, more than forty miles away, and Mount Mitchell, 
thirty miles farther to the northeast, Mt. Rabun, over 
on the Georgia hne ; the Great Smokies, on the border 
of Tennessee, and — near at hand — Old Whitesides, with 
its bold, forbidding cliffs, looking like a bit of Colorado 
carried into the midst of southern greenery. 

The forty-one-mile railway ride from Lake Toxa- 
way to Hendersonville is through the narrow valley 
of the upper French Broad, where the waters tumble 
over precipices, roar among the impeding rocks, spread 
out into broad shallows, and narrow into pent-np 
gorges. Many travelers here do not find it an easy 

77 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

matter to decide whether to go on at once to Asheville 
or to stop off for another taste of the trail. Perhaps 
they will yield to the information that from Cherry- 
field it is possible to accompany the rural postman on 
his route twenty-four miles to Sylvia. On the way 
"Wolf Mountain is passed, the trail from Waynesville 
to Lake Toxaway is intersected, the Tuckaseegee River 
is followed, and the ever-delightful Speedwell Valley is 
within reach. 

From Brevard, in the Pisgah National Forest re- 
gion, there is a trail to Looking Glass Mountain and 
Looking Glass Falls, to Cassar's Head, and then — 
through a country of perennial delight — nineteen miles 
to the crest of the Pisgah Ridge. In the shadow of these 
mountains the real lover of the wild speedily substitutes 
new values for the old. Once a wanderer, seeking the 
Pisgah heights, was cheated in a trade for food. In 
writing of the experience he said: **It matters little. 
In Vagabondia one does not haggle over the price of 
this or that ; on the open road money is a small thing 
indeed, and it is better to be cheated out of the change 
than to miss a noble prospect of far-off mountains or a 
fir tree by the roadside." Again he told of losing his 
knife — "an old comrade that I knew I should miss ; but 
I let it go without a murmur, and after scarcely a 
minute's search among the weeds. Better that it rust 
away to nothingness than that a single hour of the day 
be poisoned by a weary quest." 

Those who cannot take the trail where they will 
learn the joy of roughing it may soon have their turn. 
Out from mountain-girt Renders on ville a splendid 
motor highway leads over hill and valley to Hickory 
Nut Gap, a gorge in the Blue Ridge nine miles long, that 

78 




ON THE FRENCH BROAD RIVER, MADISON COUNTY, NORTH CAROLINA 




SI'EEDWELL VALLEY, JACKSON COUNTY, NORTH CAROLINA 



THE LAND OF THE SKY 

is not only wild but wonderfully, tremendously beauti- 
ful. There great water-worn precipices stand out amid 
the rolling green of the mountain forests. There caves 
and pools and waterfalls whisper mysteriously. There 
the Rocky Broad River tumbles and roars toward the 
Atlantic. Giant rocks are everywhere, but the king of 
them all is Chimney Rock, rising in solitary grandeur 
close to the fifteen-hundred-foot precipice on the south 
side of the Gap, It is called a chimney ; it might as well 
be called a castle turret. But no mediaeval knight ever 
conceived a turret so massive. If the Cherokees had 
been castle-builders, what a site they would have had 
on the summit ! How easy it would have been for them 
to defend the Appian Way, the narrow ledge from 
Chimney Rock to Hickory Nut Falls, which tumble over 
a precipice nine hundred feet high! Wliat delight 
they would have found from their lofty eyries in looking 
out along and across the Gap to the rounded summits 
bathed in green, to skies painted a deep blue that are at 
once the joy and despair of the artist! 

On from Hickory Nut Gap to Rutherfordton the 
highway continues, affording, from Hendersonville, 
thirty-seven miles of travel through a section where the 
people are as honest as the scenery is sublime. It has 
been said of them: **If you should go among them to 
live, and should ever bolt your door or latch your win- 
dows at night or when you go away, they would have 
nothing to do with you. It would be an affront to them. 
Honesty is a matter of course in this country.'* 

In the days when the stage-coach gave the only ac- 
cess to this mountain region there were two favorite 
approaches to Asheville — one by way of Hickory Nut 
Gap, the other through Marion, southeast of Mount 

79 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

Mitchell, and down through the Swannanoa Gap. Both 
routes had strenuous partisans who thought there was 
no possibility of comparing their favorite with its rival, 
but there were many who found it difficult to choose 
between them. It has been said that the majesty of 
Hickory Nut Gap is in such contrast to the delicate 
beauty of the Swannanoa Gap that both should be seen 
and just as often as possible. 

Marion is less than twenty-five miles by rail north of 
Eutherfordton, but the distance seems even shorter 
because the road lies through new country of compel- 
ling beauty, even grandeur. The town itself is another 
of the numerous mountain centers where God's glory 
on earth and in the heavens is eloquently declared. The 
balsam-clad Black Mountains chain the vision, while 
Mount Mitchell rises in haughty might above all the 
rest. Yet another vision is waiting on those who climb 
to Hudgins Hill, only a short distance from the nestling 
houses on the banks of a branch of the Catawba. The 
valley of the Catawba itself is spread out in winding 
beauty beneath those who stand on Price 's HiU, three 
miles north. 

From Marion to Asheville is forty-one miles, and 
every mile is notable for the ever-changing outlook and 
for the associations of the country. Old Fort, for in- 
stance, located where Bergen Creek enters the Catawba, 
tells of the fortification built in early days for the pro- 
tection of the settlers from the forays of the Cherokees. 
Perhaps those who named the fort were too busy to 
study the mountains, but the visitor to-day gazes in 
rapture on "Wild Cat Knob and Edmondson Mountain. 

Soon after the train issues from the tunnel at Den- 
dron the passenger is apt to rub his eyes and ask if he 

80 



THE LAND OF THE SKY 

is dreaming. Is it possible that he is in Yellowstone 
Park, instead of in North Carolina*? Are Balsam Cone 
and the Black Brothers and Celo — all more than six 
thousand feet high — peaks of the Rockies, not of the 
Blue Ridge? Certainly the great geyser at Round 
Knob indicates the West, not the East ! Several hun- 
dred feet high spouts the water from the orifice near the 
tracks. A few years ago the wonder ceased to flow, 
but efforts to reopen the choked channel were success- 
ful, and North Carolina can once more point proudly to 
the graceful columns of Andrews' Fountain that rises 
as if to dispute the mountains ' sway. 

Within a few miles of the fountain three great de- 
nominations and the Young Men's Christian Associ- 
ation have pitched their summer camps where there is 
constant inspiration to look and ramble, to wonder and 
worship. It is difficult to make choice among the loca- 
tions, but some award the palm to the grounds just 
beyond the gap where the Swannanoa cleaves the moun- 
tains on its rushing way to the French Broad, while Kit- 
tazmna Peak looks down with the dignity becoming 
a monarch. 

On to the gate of Asheville flows the Swannanoa, 
there to join the stream that is so soon to triumph over 
the mountain barrier that overlooks the Valley of 
East Tennessee. 

There are winter resorts and there are summer 
resorts; in the off-season these places seem to make 
mute appeal for the return of those who once sought 
refreshment there. But Asheville, Queen of the Land 
of the Sky, has no off-season; in winter and summer 
alike it welcomes throngs from the north and from the 
south who delight in its situation in the valley sloping 

6 81 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

up to hills that are mountains, and in the multitude of 
roads and trails that take off into the wilds as well as 
into regions where those go who wish all comforts as 
they travel. One of the most notable of these roads has 
been completed to Mt. Pisgah, in the heart of the Pis- 
gah National Forest and Game Preserve. There is also 
the road reserved entirely for automobiles built to a 
height from which a score of other peaks may be 
counted, and the drive to Biltmore, the Vanderbilt 
estate, one hundred thousand acres of forest and game 
preserve, with its scores of miles of roads and hundreds 
of miles of trail. 

Finally comes the greatest joy of all — the pilgrim- 
age to Mount Mitchell, patriarch of the Black Moun- 
tains, monarch of the Eastern United States, said by 
geologists to be the oldest mountain in the world. 

With the completion of the ** Crest of the Blue Ridge 
Highway'^ from Asheville to Blowing Rock, approach 
to Mount Mitchell will be easy. But it is not necessary 
to wait for the highway ; trails are open for those who 
take delight in climbing, who feel that those who do not 
conquer the way on foot deprive themselves of half the 
joy of the days spent in the mountains. For their com- 
fort and guidance a map of the Mount Mitchell National 
Forest has been prepared by the Southern Railway. 
On this are shown in full detail roads and trails, camp 
sites, streams, gaps and mountains — everything that a 
vagabond in the forest could wish. 

But the simplest way to reach the summit is to take 
the train from Asheville, sixteen miles to Mount 
Mitchell Station, and then ascend by the help of the 
Mount Mitchell Railroad to the summit. It is a climb 
of more than four thousand feet, among the wild flowers 

82 



THE LAND OF THE SKY 

and ferns, mosses and galax, laurel, azalea and rhodo- 
dendron, with balsam on every hand, above and 
below. As the railway twists and turns it brings into 
view many peaks, lofty, rounded, sublime. But soon 
it will be evident that all bow down to Mount Mitchell — 
even the Black Brothers, from their twin heights of 
6690 and 6620 feet. 

On the highest part of the mountain rises the monu- 
ment to Elisha Mitchell, whose wanderings amid the 
mountain he loved led him to his death. He could not 
rest when the assertion was made by another mountain- 
lover that the crown of the Black Mountains should rest 
on Clingman's Peak, instead of on Mount Mitchell. One 
June day in 1857, after he had spent weeks in scientific 
work, he started alone to cross the mountain. Four 
days later, when no word was received from him, a 
search party was organized. Five days they searched 
in vain; then a mountaineer found footprints which 
showed that Doctor Mitchell had tried to pass around 
the edge of a precipice over which a cataract tumbled. 
The tom-up moss indicated where he had slipped and 
had tried to raise himself. Forty feet below his body 
lay in a placid pool, still grasping a broken branch 
of laurel. 

Reverently the mountaineers lifted the body from 
the pool and bore it down to Asheville, where the grave 
was made at the request of his family. But a little later 
the mountaineers were given their due ; they were per- 
mitted to carry him aloft to the summit of his mountain, 
where every visitor pays tribute to the conqueror of 
the wild, the lover of the solitudes, the man who wor- 
shiped on the dome of the roof of Eastern America. 



CHAPTER VII 
THE VARIED CAROLINA COAST COUNTRY 

THOMAS MOORE has told the story of a young 
man who lost his mind because of the death 
of the maid he loved. In his delirium he 
imagined that she had gone to the Dismal Swamp — 

Where all night long, by a fire-fly lamp. 
She paddles her white canoe. 

He followed her and saw her light. Then he watched — 

Till he hollowed a boat of the birchen bark, 

Which carried him off from the shore; 
Far he followed the meteor spark, 
The wind was high and the clouds were dark, 

And the boat returned no more. 

But oft, from the Indian hunter's camp 

This lover and maid so true 
Are seen, at the hour of midnight damp, 
To cross the lake by a fire-fly lamp. 

And paddle their white canoe! 

Evidently the poet had in mind not only the Great 
Dismal Swamp, but also Lake Drummond, in the weird 
region of Norfolk County, Virginia, close to the North 
Carolina border, and but fifty miles or so from the 
Atlantic. The lake and the swamp are connected by one 
of the canals dug to facilitate the transport of timber 
from that rich country. 

The Great Dismal Swamp extends over the border 
into North Carolina, a district known as South Vir- 

84 



mmer^ 




-^^'^-^-A 



CYPRESS TREES IN EASTERN PART OF LAKE DRUMMOND, VIRGINIA 




SOTTTHKRX MARGIN OF LAKE DRUMMONn, VIRGINIA 



THE VARIED CAROLINA COAST COUNTRY 

ginia in the days of the early pioneers. The explorers 
of its strange precincts can go for forty miles from 
north to south, and for twenty-five miles from east to 
west, always keeping within the swamp, an immense 
quagmire where is peat of unknown depth, where waters 
flow slowly toward the rivers to north and south and 
east, where there are occasional bits of firm ground due 
to the matted roots of vegetable matter. 

Off to the east of Dismal Swamp lies Currituck 
Sound, first in the curious series of land-locked salt 
water inlets separated from the boiling waters of the 
open ocean by the long narrow arm of bars and islands, 
**the Banks," whose elbow is stormy Cape Hatteras. 
This northernmost of the sounds is noted among bird- 
lovers because it is the favorite winter resort of the 
whistling swan. 

Albemarle Sound, to the south of Currituck, is 
linked with the heroic story of one who had no leisure 
to think of the swarming bird life. Her name was 
Betsy Dowdy, and her inspiration to heroism came 
when the British approached Great Bridge in the Albe- 
marle country. She knew that the only salvation for 
the country-side was in getting word to General Wil- 
liam Skinner of the militia at Perquimans. So she 
mounted her pony, crossed Currituck when the tide was 
coming in, rode through Camden, to the south of the 
Dismal Swamp, crossed Pasquotank, and entered Per- 
quimans. At her frantic call the militia hurried to meet 
the British and drove them back. 

Edenton, once the colonial capital of North Caro- 
lina, is to the west of Perquimans on Albemarle Sound. 
In the height of the town's glory its five hundred people 
vied with Williamsburg in Virginia in social gayety. 

85 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

Reminders of those days are numerous in the quaint 
to^vll where colonial buildings survive. The most inter- 
esting of these reminders is the tablet erected by the 
North Carolina Daughters of the Revolution to ''The 
Fifty-one ladies of Edenton, who, by their patriotism, 
zeal, early protest against British authority, assisted 
our forefathers in the making of the republic and our 
commonwealth." These patriotic women met on Oc- 
tober 25, 1774, and passed resolutions commending the 
Provisional Congress, and promised not to conform * ' to 
that Pernicious Custom of Drinking Tea, and that the 
aforesaid Ladys would not promote ye wear of any 
manufacture from England" until the tax was repealed. 

From Edenton the waters of Albemarle Sound lead 
to Kitty Hawk, on the bounding sandspits, where, it is 
thought by some, beautiful Theodosia Burr was 
drowned in 1812 when a pilot boat bound for New York 
was wrecked on the Banks. At any rate, the portrait 
of the daughter of Aaron Burr, rescued from the wreck, 
hung on the wall of a cabin at Kitty Hawk until 1869. 
Then it was given by a patient in gratitude for the at- 
tentions of a physician. 

From Kitty Hawk to Cape Hatteras and around 
the elbow of the sandspits there have been wrecks with- 
out number, for here, in the edge of the Gulf Stream, 
is what has been called ''the Golgotha of the Sea." 
From earliest days mariners have been in terror of this 
coast. De Bry 's " True Picture of Virginia, ' ' in telling 
of the arrival of the pioneers "in the iland called 
Roanoae, ' ' said : 

"The sea coasts of Virginia arre full of Hands, 
whereby the entrance into the land is hard to finde. 
. . . For although they bee separated with diuers and 

86 



THE VARIED CAROLINA COAST COUNTRY 

sundrye large Dimensions, which seeme to yield con- 
uenient entrance, yet to our great perill we proued that 
they wear shallowe, and full of dangerous flatts, and 
could never perce up to the mayne land, until we made 
trialls in many places with or small pinniers. At 
length we fownd entrance ypon our mens diligent iserch 
thereof. Affter that we had passed off, and sayled ther 
in for a short space we discouered a mighty riuer, f all- 
inge downe into the Sownde. . . ." 

Roanoke Island is north of Cape Hatteras at the 
upper end of Pamlico Sound, and to the east of Dare 
County, named for Virginia Dare, first English child 
bom in America, on August 18, 1587. At the lower end 
of the Sound is Newbern, founded in 1709, as New 
Berne, by the Palatinates and the Swiss. Here the 
colonial governor, Tryon, held his court, and from here 
he went far to the northwest to fight the Regulators — 
roused on the question of taxation — in the battle of 
the Alamance on May 16, 1771. This conflict has been 
called the first of the Revolution, though there are some 
even in North Carolina who declare that the Regulators 
were a mere lawless mob, opposed to true government. 
The fierce dispute with those who declare the men were 
true patriots can never be settled. 

But there can be no question as to the patriotism of 
the thousand men of Wilmington, who, on the banks of 
Moore 's Creek, a tributary of Black River, put to flight 
sixteen hundred Tories in ' * the first victory gained by 
American arms in the war of the Revolution. ' * At least 
this is the claim made on the monument erected on the 
site of the battle, near Carrie, in Pender County. 

Years before, in February, 1766, patriots from the 
city on Cape Fear River, mustered in opposition to the 

87 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

Stamp Act and succeeded in forcing Governor Tryon 
to release two colonial vessels whose clearance papers 
had not been stamped. Thus the Stamp Act was, in 
effect, annulled, so far as North Carolina was con- 
cerned, two months before its repeal. If Tryon had 
not yielded there would have been a clash — and the 
American Revolution would have begun then and there, 
so North Carolina historians believe. 

Days may be spent in looking at the attraction of 
modem Wilmington and in studying the reminders of 
other days, past Negro Head Point, which separates 
the waters of Cape Fear Eiver into northwest and 
northeast branches, and on to Big Island, site of Old 
Town, the Barbadoes settlement of 1665; Caroline 
Beach, with its five-mile stretch of breakers ; the site of 
the old colonial to^vn of Brunswick ; Fort Fisher, whose 
capture on Januaiy 15, 1865, ended Confederate block- 
ade running; and the lighthouse on Bald Head, resort 
of wreckers and pirates of other days. Bald Head is 
at the top of South Island, where the Frying Pan Shoals 
begin, and here is ''The Cape of Fear," Sir Walter 
Raleigh's Promontorum Tremendum — the southern 
limit of the inhospitable seaward barrier to a most 
hospitable state. 

The one-hundred-and-fifty-mile section of coast 
from Cape Fear to Winyah Bay in South Carolina is a 
startling contrast to the stormy region to the north. 
Neither islands nor bars interfere with approach to the 
shore, which curves gracefully inland. The waves of 
the Atlantic break on a smooth beach, where residents 
of interior cities and to"\vns find summer relief. 

Near the head of spacious Winyah Bay is George- 
town, the terminus of the most pleasing canoe journey 



THE VARIED CAROLINA COAST COUNTRY 

in the South, two hundred miles in all, first on the 
Lumbee River, then on the Little Peedee, and finally on 
the Great Peedee River. John Martin Hammond 
speaks of this combination waterway as ' ' the only clear- 
water stream fit for canoes between the Gulf of Mexico 
and Virginia . . . the only stream of such extent. ' ' 

From Pine Bluff, where the Mid-winter Canoeing 
Club has its headquarters, sportsmen in increasing 
numbers follow the fascinating stream, through the 
plunging rapids, and the long-leaf pines — successors 
these of the Indian canoemen of long ago who, in their 
keen enjo^Tiient of the passage, called the headwaters 
stream Lumbee, "beautiful river." 

Every mile of the varied stream bears testimony to 
the accuracy of the name. The rapids and the pines 
of the upper river and the cypresses and Spanish moss 
of the lower reaches lead the fortunate winter canoeist 
to rejoice. The fisherman will find abundant oppor- 
tunity to try his skill. The lover of mystery will be 
fascinated by the sight of the Croatan Indian reserva- 
tion, where dwell the several thousand wards of the 
nation thought by many to be descendants of the lost 
colony of Sir Walter Raleigh. At least the name is a 
reminder of the disappointing discovery of the expedi- 
tion of 1590, sent to the relief of the colony — a wooden 
stockade on whose gate was burned the mysterious 
word *' Croatan." The historian will revel in the 
thought that, at Yauhannah, where the Great Peedee is 
reached, he is floating past marshy islands made mem- 
orable in Revolutionary days by the exploits of Marion 
and his brave followers, whose appearances and dis- 
appearances brought sorrow to followers of England's 
German king. 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

It is easy to lose one's way in the labyrinth of water 
passages among the islands, not only here but farther 
north at Buzzard Flats, and to the south where there 
is more than one connection with the Waccamaw Eiver. 

On the lower reaches of the waterway to Winyah 
Bay there is ample room for more ambitious craft, 
whose owners may be tempted to follow the coast a 
short distance to the delta built out into the sea by the 
Santee, another of the rivers made memorable by the 
exploits of Marion — the river that once formed a link 
in ambitious Charleston's scheme to connect with 
Columbia and bring to her harbor cotton from the in- 
terior and rice from the lands nearer at hand. The 
student of up-to-date maps will find its given place, as 
in the days of old, but the author of * ' The South in the 
Building of the Nation" says that 'Hhe canal is now in 
ruins, though some of its locks, built of brick and origi- 
nally capped with marble, are standing." 

The Santee canal is a memory, but another of 
Charleston's early attempts to bring to her doors the 
wealth of the interior has been more fortunate. Trav- 
elers may still pass along the route of what was, at 
the time of its building, the longest railroad in the 
world, the South Carolina railroad, from Charleston 
to Hamburg. For one hundred and thirty-seven miles 
this wonder led through the wilderness. 

In 1830, when the locomotive "Best Friend" was 
tested on the railroad, one hmidred and forty passen- 
gers were carried. One of them told wonderingly of 
his experience behind the horse that** eats fire, breathes 
steam and feeds upon lightwood." He said: **We flew 
on the wings of the wind at the varied speed of fifteen 
to twenty-five miles an hour. We darted forth like a 

90 




E^"-' 



FORT SUMTER, CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA 




ENTRANCE TO THE DEVEREUX HOME, CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA 



THE VARIED CAROLINA COAST COUNTRY 

live rocket, scattering sparks and flames on either side." 

Long before the ''Best Friend" carried passengers 
to Charleston at such terrific speed the city was famous. 
And its fame continues. 

The city has a matchless situation, at the junction 
of the two rivers, within sight of the open sea. The 
best view of the harbor and the ocean is from the Bat- 
tery, at the point between the rivers. It is only five 
miles out to historic Fort Sumter, while Fort Moultrie, 
on Sullivan's Island, speaks eloquently of the days 
when the harbor was successfully defended against the 
British. Not far from Sullivan's Island is the Isle of 
Palms, with its nine-mile beach and its palmettoes and 
live oaks, notable among the innumerable island gems 
set in the blue ocean all the way from Winyah Bay 
to Savannah. 

And when the steps lead back into the city, what 
wealth is there for the lover of the picturesque and for 
those devoted to the lore of other days, as well as for 
those whose delights are all of modern commercial tri- 
umphs ! Stately old churches, like St. Philip 's and St. 
Michael's, and the Hugnienot church, founded in 1681 — 
the only French Huguenot church in America ; wonder- 
ful colonial houses, like the Pringle house, the Heywood 
house, the Huger house and the Horry house; quaint 
streets and buildings yet more quaint; shaded walks, 
blooming flowers, and parks like the Magnolia Gardens 
on the Ashley — a dream come true, a bit of fairyland 
close to the heart of a city where the activity of the 
present is able to keep step with the wonders that are 
the heritage from other days. 

The flavor of other days, felt with so much persis- 
tence in Charleston, clings even more closely to the 

91 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

low-lying Sea Islands that cluster between St. Helena 
Sound, southwest of Charleston, and the mouth of the 
Savannah River. These fertile islands are separated 
from the mainland by tide rivers which afford an ideal 
opportunity for the leisurely visitor to wander at will 
in bateau or motor boat, close to the shore where the 
marshes and the Spanish moss, the live oaks and the 
palmettoes, the magnolia and the pines vie with each 
other in framing a land that seems like a bit of Africa. 

The wandering may begin either at St. Helena 
Sound, where the Edisto and the Combahee Rivers seek 
the sea, or at Beaufort, the quaint little city that dates 
from 1711. Beaufort, and Port Royal, near by, were 
important points in the days of the Confederacy, until 
the capture of Hilton Head and St. Philips, two of the 
finest of the islands, closed the passage from the sea. 

Hilton Head has other claims to fame. Here, in 
1790, the first crop of the wondrously fine long staple 
Sea Island cotton, finest cotton grown, was raised from 
seed brought from the Bahamas, and thus the founda- 
tion was laid for an industry that throve until the 
fortunes of war drove the planters from their farms. 
Now other sections produce this valuable variety of cot- 
ton, but the best is still raised in South Carolina, Beau- 
fort and Charleston counties alone — in which are the 
Sea Islands — reporting acreage devoted to its growth. 
The product in a recent year was only seven thousand 
bales, but these bales were in great demand, at high 
prices. This demand has been explained by the state- 
ment that a single pound can be spun into a thread 160 
miles long, and that the fiber is so fine that the weavers 
of France have been known to mix it, undetected, with 
the product of the silk worm. 



CHAPTER VIII 
WHERE FLOWS THE CHATTAHOOCHEE 

THE approach to the storied Chattahoochee is 
from Kings Mountain, and across the section 
of western North Carolina where Spartanburg 
rules the largest cotton manufacturing county of the 
South. The story is told that the county and the town 
were named in honor of the Spartan qualities of the 
pioneers who prepared the way for those who have 
made great this land of cotton fields and cotton mills. 
Long ago attention was called to Spartanburg's mills 
by one of the whimsical paragraphs of Joel Chandler 
Harris in the Atlanta Constitution. After speaking of 
a cloudburst that had destroyed several of these mills, 
the genial paragrapher wrote, ''Cotton factories can- 
not be too careful in rainy weather. ' ' But now that the 
city at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains has one- 
sixth of the spindles in South Carolina, her fame rests 
on a more substantial basis. 

The traveler through western South Carolina is 
attracted as favorably by the luxuriant hillsides, 
adapted for agriculture in a manner familiar to those 
who go to the Philippine Islands, as he is attracted un- 
favorably by the sight of cotton bales exposed to the 
weather in back yards and front yards, in the mud of 
village streets, or along the country roads. It is evi- 
dent that the five-hundred-pound bales are safe from 
theft, but what of the deterioration suffered by the cot- 

93 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

ton? Spartanburg, a leader in so many things, has 
taken steps to provide warehouses where the grower of 
a single bale or the planter who counts his crop by 
hundreds of bales may deposit his product while wait- 
ing for a favorable opportunity to market it. Thanks 
to Spartanburg and those whom Spartanburg has in- 
spired, the day is coming when buyers will pass by un- 
protected cotton for the bales from the warehouses. 

Far more pleasing than unprotected cotton by the 
roadside are the water-sculptured banks and hillsides 
of this upland country, where the slopes stage a feeble 
imitation of the nearby lessening spurs of the Appa- 
lachians, like the Chattooga Ridge, w^hich, for more 
than a score of miles, successfully interferes with the 
purpose of the Chattooga River to turn toward the 
Atlantic instead of toward the Gulf of Mexico. But at 
length the stream, stealing a march on the mountains, 
makes a quick turn to the southeast by way of the Tuga- 
loo, which soon becomes the Savamiah in its triumphant 
sweep toward the sea. In consequence of the turn about 
the mountains, Oconee, the South Carolina county that 
seems to rob Georgia of a bit of her territory, has rivers 
on three sides — for the Keowee also starts in the Chat- 
tooga Ridge and flows toward the Seneca, the Savan- 
nah and the sea. 

The rivers that precede the Savannah have several 
points in conmion. For one thing there is the oo, which 
is a good variation of the ee, affected by so many of the 
old-time names of the neighborhood. Then there is 
Rabun Gap, one of the bits of scenic grandeur not very 
far from the Chattooga, a typical primitive mountain 
community; and there is Tallulah Falls, whose majesty 
is a close neighbor of the Tugaloo. 

94 




CHATTOOGA RIVER, GEORGIA 
Near the mouth 




TALLULAH FALLS, GEORGIA 



II 



WHERE FLOWS THE CHATTAHOOCHEE 

Tallulah Falls — called by the Cherokees Tarrurah 
— are not far from the junction of the Tallulah River 
with the Tugaloo. They are really a series of falls in 
a mountain stream that tumbles over the rocks in most 
entrancing fashion. 

The leaping waters of Tallulah provide opportunity 
for hydro-electric development of which engineers have 
not been slow to take advantage. The use made by them 
of the portion of the potential two million and a half 
horsepower on the streams of Georgia has not de- 
stroyed the attractions of a spot so rare that it casts 
in the shade the nearby Toccoa Falls in Stephens 
County, which drop more than one hundred and fifty 
feet over a cliff that seems specially made for the stag- 
ing of such a display of the might of falling water. 

Tallulah Falls are close to the mountain ridge that 
divides the Mississippi system from that of the At- 
lantic slope. It has been calculated that a canal 
thirty-five miles across Rabun Gap would connect the 
Little Tennessee with the Tugaloo, and so with the 
Savannah. In fact, the Little Tennessee, the Chat- 
tooga, the Chattahoochee and the Keowee start within 
a short distance of one another. One of these streams 
goes to the Gulf by way of the Ohio and Mississippi, 
two flow directly to the Gulf, and two to the Atlantic. 

An Indian legend current long ago in the country 
west of Rabun Gap made use of this interdigitation of 
the waters of this favored region. A Cherokee brave 
loved the Catawba princess Hiawassee {pretty fawn), 
and asked for her hand in marriage. The Catawba 
father said in reply that his people drank the waters of 
the East, while the Cherokees drank from the streams 
of the West, and added, ''"When you, insolent, can find 

95 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

these waters united, then may the hated Cherokee 
marry the daughter of the great Catawba. ' ' 

The despairing yet hopeful lover at once began a 
long search for the union of the waters. He climbed 
the Appalachee, studied the water courses, and suc- 
ceeded in finding springs within a. few feet of each 
other, but he could find no union between them. Then 
one day he stealthily followed three young fawns. He 
stalked them to a lake that had two outlets, one to the 
west, and one to the east. ' ' Hiawassee ! Hiawassee ! ' ' 
he cried. ' ' I have found it. ' ' 

The Cherokees rejoiced in the glorious beauty of 
this North Georgia country, which had long been a part 
of their possessions. Once they occupied also the moun • 
tain regions of North and South Carolina and Tennes- 
see. They were left undisturbed until the discovery of 
gold excited the cupidity of settlers. Traces of the 
precious metal were uncovered at Dahlonega, southwest 
of Eabun Gap, and not far from Cane Creek Falls. At 
once there arose clamor for the removal of the Indians 
to a reservation in the West. But, as Bancroft says, 
the Cherokees "loved their native land, and, above all, 
they loved its rivers." So they resented the attempt 
to displace them. Yet the white men finally succeeded 
in their purpose, in spite of the decision of the United 
States Supreme Court that the Cherokees could not be 
dispossessed by the state of Georgia. The record of the 
next seven years is a black chapter in the story of what 
Helen Hunt Jackson called "A Century of Dishonor"; 
for the Cherokees were driven from their lands and sent 
to what is now Oklahoma, their migration being one 
of the most pitiful spectacles in all the colorful pag- 
eantry of the frontier. A remnant exists to-day in the 

96 



WHERE FLOWS THE CHATTAHOOCHEE 

mountains of North Carolina, made up of industrious, 
loyal men and women who, during the European War, 
bought bonds and sent soldiers to the front without 
question. It has been said that but one slacker was 
reported in the whole tribe, and that he was immedi- 
ately brought to book by his own people. 

Habersham County, which borders on Tallulah 
Falls, has its reminders of the Cherokees. In 1830, in 
Nacoochee Valley, on Duke 's Creek, a subterranean vil- 
lage was discovered by gold washers. Here were 
thirty-four log houses, all joined together. Perhaps 
these were the homes of the people of the legendary 
Nacoochee (Evening Star), the chief's daughter, who 
fell in love with the son of a chief of a neighboring hos- 
tile tribe. Their union was opposed, but they married 
without permission, and went for their honeymoon to 
'Hhe valley, where, from the interlocked branches over- 
head, the white flowers of the clematis, and the purple 
blossoms of the magnificent wild persimmon mingled 
with the dark foliage of the muscadines." There "the 
song of the mocking-bird and the murmur of the Chat- 
tahoochee 's hurrying waters were marriage hymn and 
anthem to them. ' * But the angry father pursued them, 
and shot an arrow at Laceola, the bridegroom. Na- 
coochee thrust herself in the path of the arrow. To- 
gether they were buried, and a mound was heaped above 
them, which is pointed out to prove the legend's truth. 

In Habersham County the Chattahoochee takes up 
the tale of the rivers of this enchanted land, and 
wrestles with highlands where Ellick's and Sail's, 
Skitt 's and Mount Yonah — the latter one of the highest 
mountains of Georgia — lift their heads. Then the 
stream seeks the easier ground of Hall, to the south- 

7 97 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

west. This is the river of which Sidney Lanier, the 
Georgia poet whom all America claims, sang : 

Out of the hills of Habersham, 

Down the valleys of Hall, 
I hurry amain to reach the plain, 

Run the rapid and leap the fall, 
Split at the rock and together again, 

Accept my bed, or narrow or wide, 

And flee from folly on every side — 
With a lover's pain to attain the plain, 

Far from the hills of Habersham, 

Far from the valleys of Hall. 

All down the hills of Habersham, 

All through the valleys of Hall, 
The rushes cried, Abide, abide, 

The willful waterweeds held me thrall, 
Tlie laving laurel turned my tide, 

The ferns and the fondling grass said Stay, 

The dewberry dipped for to work delay, 
And the little reeds sighed, Abide, abide. 

Here in the Mils of Habersham, 

Here in the valleys of Hall. 

The Chattahoochee rushes on, and at length passes 
within seven miles of that marvelous city Atlanta, 
founded in 1837 and named Terminus, because it was 
at the end of the Western and Atlantic Railroad, whose 
population grows so rapidly that it is hardly safe to 
mate an estimate between census periods ; whose mod- 
em buildings are displaced so soon by buildings yet 
more modern that one who revisits the business center 
after an absence of but a year or two finds that he 
needs to be introduced all over again ; whose industries 
are so varied that they could care for almost all the 
needs of the people. 

It is possible to secure a fleeting glimpse of At- 

98 



II 




STONE MOUNTAIN, GEORGIA 
Sixteen miles from Atlanta 



WHERE FLOWS THE CHATTAHOOCHEE 

lanta 's attractions within a few hours, but tourists say 
that only a stay of weeks can content them, and resi- 
dents declare that no other city could have any per- 
manent attractions for one who has learned to love 
Georgia's capital city. 

Everybody wants to see the Capitol that was actu- 
ally built for fifty thousand dollars less than the esti- 
mate, the county court-house, which is claimed as **the 
finest in the South," the post-office, the Federal peni- 
tentiary, the residence district of aristocratic Peach- 
tree street, the more modern residence centers, Imnan 
Park and Druid Hill, and the awe-inspiring Stone 
Mountain, sixteen miles east of the city, the strange 
monolith rising seven hundred feet high, several square 
miles in extent, whose slopes from bottom to top is a 
full mile. 

But to most people more attractive than any of 
these wonders are the memorials of Joel Chandler 
Harris, beloved of the children and their parents every- 
where, Uncle Remus of Br 'er Rabbit fame, writer in the 
Atlanta Constitution for years, over whose grave is the 
epitaph in words written by himself : 

*'I seem to see before me the smiling faces of thou- 
sands of children — some young and some fresh and 
some wearing the friendly marks of age, but all 
children at heart — and not one unfriendly face among 
them. And while I am trying hard to speak the right 
word, I seem to hear a voice lifted above the rest, say- 
ing, 'You have made some of us happy.' And so I feel 
my heart fluttering and my lips trembling ; and I have 
to bow silently and turn away and hurry into the ob- 
scurity that fits me best. " 

But when Uncle Remus died the people of Atlanta 

99 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

remembered that he had said, ''Don't erect any statue 
of marble or bronze to me to stand out in the rain and 
cold and dark." So they formed the Uncle Eemus 
Memorial Association, and in 1913 they secured for a 
permanent memorial the writer's house at West End, 
which came to be called "The Wren's Nest," because of 
the story told by its owner of the housekeeping of two 
wrens in the little box near the gate, where the china- 
berry tree and the honeysuckle throve. For years the 
story-teller's delight was in this home, from which he 
could look to the hills about Atlanta. And how he liked 
to go to these hills because from them, on a clear day, 
he could see Kenesaw Mountain, of which he said, ' ' The 
majesty of Kenesaw was voiceless. ... Its silence 
seemed more suggestive than the lapse of time, more 
profound than a prophet's vision of eternity, more mys- 
terious than any problem of the human mind." 



CHAPTER IX 

ALONG THE SAVANNAH RIVER 

Singin' the song of Hope and Home, 

Here's Georgia! 
Fields light-white with the fleecy foam, 

Here's Georgia! 
Where the corn hangs heavy and climbs so high 
It tells the gold in the mines " Good-bye," 
And hides the hills from the mornin' sky, 

Here's Georgia! 

The enthusiasm in Stanton's lines is modern, but it 
is akin to the enthusiasm of Eibault who, in 1562, ap- 
proached the Savannah Eiver from the sea, and spoke 
of it as * ' a f ayre coast stretching of a great length ; cov- 
vered with an infinite number of high and f ayre trees. ' ' 
Then he said that the land in this favored region was 
the ** fairest, fruitfullest, and pleasantest of all the 
world, abounding in hony, venison, wild f owle, forests, 
woods of all sorts. Palm-trees, Cypresse, and Cedars ; 
Bayes ye highest and greatest; with also the fayrest 
rivers in all the world. . . . And the sight of the 
faire meadows is a pleasure not able to be expressed 
with tongue ; full of Hemes, Curlues, Bitters, Mallards, 
Egrepths, woodcocks, and all other kind of small birds ; 
with Harts, Hindes, Buckes, wilde Swine, and all other 
kindes of wilde beastes, as we perceived well, both by 
their footing there and . . . their crie and roaring 
in the night." 

Nearly two centuries passed before pioneers found 

101 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

their way up the river regions that so delighted the old 
Huguenot, to found Augusta, the border citj^ that from 
its grove of pines looks out on the Savannah and invites 
the traveler by road or rail or river, seeking a pleasing 
place for rest or sightseeing, for golfing or fishing or 
boating. The days since 1735 have given ample oppor- 
tunity for improvements, but they have not brought the 
loss of the flavor of old times. Evidences of commercial 
sanity and progress are everywhere, but the city has 
had the taste and taken the time to make streets and 
parks attractive for residents as well as travelers. This 
is the impression made on visitors who step from the 
gate of the Union Station, as they look out on the green 
open space that is but a foretaste of the beauty spots 
everywhere — for instance, the long stretch of Green 
Street, where a double row of spreading trees borders 
each of the roadways, while a park-line walk silently 
pleads with the wayfarer to prolong his stroll under 
the branches. 

Below Augusta the river makes insistent appeal for 
a lazy, leisurely seeking of Savannah and the sea. In 
1867 John Muir made such a journey, and left a record 
of it that gives the real flavor of the favored waterway. 
He spoke of splendid grasses and rich, dense, vine-clad 
forests, of Muscadine grapes in cart-loads, of passion 
flowers and pomegranates, thick, tough-skinned, which, 
when opened, * ' resemble a many-chambered box full of 
translucent purple candies." He remarked the Spanish 
moss, a flowering plant of the same family as the pine- 
apple, which draped all the trees along the way. He 
told of an impenetrable cypress swamp, made up of 
trees large and high and flat as to crown, *'as if each 
tree had grown up against a ceiling, or had been rolled 

102 



ALONG THE SAVANNAH RIVER 

while growing. ' ' He reveled in the groves and thickets 
of smaller trees full of blooming evergreen vines, ar- 
ranged not in separate groups, but in bossy walls, and 
heavy mound-like heaps and banks. 

When night overtook the nature lover he was usually 
entertained by some planter along the road. At one 
place the memory of hospitality which he took away 
with him was a circular table, the central part of which 
revolved. * ' When anyone wished to be helped, he placed 
his plate on the revolving part, which was whirled back 
to the host, and then whirled back with the new load. ' ' 

The records of travel in this Georgian paradise are 
full of stories of hospitality like that found by Muir. 
In 1773 a writer told of a house where ' 'the weary trav- 
eler and the stranger found a hearty welcome, and from 
whence it must be his own fault if he departed without 
being greatly benefited. ' ' Once this man took a letter 
of introduction to a planter, who, after reading it, said : 

''Friend, come under my roof, and I desire you to 
make my house your home as long as convenient to 
yourself. Remember, from this moment, that you are a 
part of my family, and on my part, I shall endeavor to 
make it agreeable. ' ' 

Indeed, hospitality was so generously given that 
steps sometimes had to be taken to escape it. When, in 
early days, Charles Lyell, of London, made his geo- 
logical trip to America, he wrote from Georgia : 

"I had been warned by my scientific friends in the 
North that the hospitality of the planters might greatly 
interfere with my scheme of geologizing in the South- 
ern states. In the letters of introduction furnished me 
at Washington it was particularly requested that in- 
formation respecting my objects, and facilities of 

103 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

moving speedily from place to place, should be given 
me instead of dinners and society." 

Georgian hospitality was responsible for the inven- 
tion of the cotton gin. Eli Whitney was a New England 
visitor to Savannah, where he was invited to become a 
guest on the plantation of Mrs. Nathanael Greene, 
twelve miles out of Savannah. His skill in devising an 
improvement in her embroidery frame led her to sug- 
gest to neighborhood visitors, who had told of their 
longing for a machine to gin cotton, that they apply to 
her guest; **he can make anything," she said. The 
result was the patent of the cotton gin in 1794. 

There was a time when it was thought that the lands 
along the Savannah where the cotton later grew so 
luxuriantly were a fit place for the mulberry tree and 
the culture of silk. General Oglethorpe urged the col- 
onists at Ebenezer, thirty miles up the Savannah, to 
devote themselves to this industry. In 1742 he sent 
five hundred mulberry trees to the settlement made in 
1734 by seventy-eight Salzburgers from Germany. For 
a while his scheme was a success; in 1764 the Salz- 
burgers sent nearly seven thousand pounds of cocoons 
to Savannah, more than half the total amount received 
there from the tributary country. For some years pro- 
duction continued to increase ; then there was someone 
in every family who could raise the cocoons and make 
the silk. But by the beginning of the Eevolution the 
industry was dead. 

When, in February, 1733, Oglethorpe went to the 
site of Savannah, it was called Yamacraw. Tomo 
Chachi, the chief, granted leave to make a settlement. 
Then came the beginning of Savannah, of which an 
early account has told : 

104 



ALONG THE SAVANNAH RIVER 

''They landed the bedding and other little neces- 
saries, and all the people lay on shore. The ground 
they encamped upon is the edge of the river where the 
Key is intended to be. Until the 7th was spent in mak- 
ing a Crane, and unloading the goods ; which done, Mr. 
Oglethorpe divided the people ; employing part in clear- 
ing the land for seed, part in beginning the palisade, 
and the remainder in felling the trees where the town 
is to stand. 

* ' On the 9th Mr. Oglethorpe and Colonel Bull marked 
out the Square, the Streets, and fifty Lots for houses 
of the town ; and the first House (which was ordered to 
be made of clapboards) was begun that day. 

' ' The town lies on the south side of the river Savan- 
nah, upon a plateau the top of a hill. . . . The river 
washes the foot of the hill, which stretches along the 
side of it about a mile, and from a terrace forty feet 
perpendicular above high water. 

**From the Key, looking eastward, you may discern 
the river as far as the islands of the sea ; and westward 
one may see it wind through the woods above six miles. 
The river is one thousand feet wide, the water fresh 
and deep enough for ships of seventy tons to come up 
close to the side of the Key. ' ' 

Tomo Chachi, King of Yamacraw, died in 1739, and 
was buried in Court House Square in Savannah, one of 
the open spaces for which the resident of the city thanks 
the far-seeing Oglethorpe, as do those who choose Sa- 
vannah's gift of summer in winter. For more than a 
century visitors have sought the rare pleasures af- 
forded by the city, its Forsyth Park, its busy river, its 
one hundred and fifty miles of glorious paved roads, 
its famous Tybee Beach, its streets where camelias and 

105 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

oleanders grow on trees, *' where sidewalks are over- 
hung with oranges and banana trees, magnolias 
and palmettoes. " 

In Savannah the people talk of the climate, of 
course. They talk, too, of their rich semi-tropical vege- 
tation. But they do not forget to speak of the tradi- 
tion of John "Wesley and George Whitefield, who 
preached in the open space because no building could 
accommodate the people who thronged to hear them, 
and they talk, too, of the wonderful Independent Pres- 
byterian Church, destroyed, it is true, in the great fire 
of 1889, but rebuilt with such fidelity that William Dean 
Howells was able to say : 

**In architecture the primacy must be yielded above 
every other religious edifice in Savannah to the famous 
Presbyterian Church, rebuilt in exact form after its 
destruction by fire. The structure on the outside is of 
such Sir Christopher Wrennish renaissance that one 
might well seem to be looking at it in a London street, 
but the interior is of such unique loveliness that no 
church in London can compare with it. Whoever would 
realize its beauty must go at once to Savannah, and 
forget for one beatific moment in its presence, the ceil- 
ings of Tiepolo, and the roofs of Veronese." 

No visitor thinks of leaving the city that has such 
high regard for the relics of the past until he has seen 
wonderful Bonaventure Cemetery, where the great 
trees festooned with Spanish moss stretch away on 
every side, grim, gray, splendid, fantastic. John Muir, 
who was penniless when he reached Savannah, spent 
the nights of a week in a thicket under the trees of the 
cemetery, and spoke of the noble avenue of live-oaks, 
*'the most conspicuous glory of Bonaventure." He 

106 




THE INDEPENDENT PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, SAVANNAH, GEORGIA 
"The interior . . . of . . . unique loveliness" — William Dean Howells 



ALONG THE SAVANNAH RIVER 

declared them the most magnificent-planted trees he 
had ever seen. *'The main branches reach out hori- 
zontally until they come together over the driveway 
embowering it through its entire length, while each 
branch is adorned like a garden with ferns, flowers, 
grasses and dwarf palmettoes," the awed scientist said. 
Then he added : 

*'Bonaventure is called a graveyard, a town of the 
dead, but the graves are powerless in such a depth of 
life. The supply of living water, the song of birds, the 
gorgeous confidence of flowers, the calm, undisturbable 
grandeur of the oaks mark the place of graves as one 
of the Lord's most favored abodes of life and light.'* 



nr 



CHAPTER X 
IN THE HEART OF GEORGIA 

HERE is nothing monotonous about the 

I courses of the Ocmulgee, the Oconee and the 

-*- Altamaha through the Coastal Plain of Georgia, 

for precipitous bluffs and deep valleys mark their 

progress through the heart of the state and on to 

the sea. 

When Sidney Lanier was a boy he delighted to 
ramble among the Indian mounds or along the banks 
of the Ocmulgee, which flows through Macon, his native 
place. With his brother and sister he used to plunge 
into the woods, across the marsh, for a day among 
doves, blackbirds, robins, plover, snipe and rabbits. 
The memory of those days was with him many years 
later when he made in his first book, while talking of 
playing the flute, a comparison that must have had its 
inspiration in the rambles by the river : 

*'It is like walking in the woods, amongst wild 
flowers, just before you go into some vast cathedral. 
For the flute seems to me to be particularly the wood 
instrument ; it speaks the gloss of green leaves and the 
pathos of torn branches ; it calls up the strange mosses 
that are under dead leaves, of wild plants that hide; 
and it breathes oak fragrances that vanish ; it expresses 
to us the natural images of music. ' ' 

But perhaps the best description of the country 

108 



IN THE HEART OF GEORGIA 

he knew and loved so well was given by indirection in 
his cry ''From the Flats," written when he was in 
Florida seeking health : 

What heartache — ne'er a hill ! 
Inexorable, vapid, vague and chill, 
The drear sand-levels drain my spirits low. 
With one poor word they tell me all they know. 
Whereat their stupid tongues, to tease my pain, 
Do drawl it o'er again and o'er again. 
They hurt my heart with grief I cannot name: 

Always the same, the same. 

Nature hath no surprise, 
No ambuscade of beauty 'gainst mine eyes 
From brake or lurking dell or deep defile; 
No humors, frolic forms — this mile, that mile; 
No rich reserves or happy-valley hopes 
Beyond the bend of roads, the distant slopes, 
Her fancy fails, her wild is all run tame: 

Ever the same, the same. 

Oh, might I through these tears 
But glimpse some hill my Georgia high uprears, 
Where white the quartz and pink the pebbles shine, 
The hickory heavenward strives, the muscadine 
Swings o'er the slope, the oak's far-falling shade 
Darkens the dogwood in the bottom glade. 
And down the hollow from a ferny nook 

Lull sings a little brook. 

The hospitable Macon of Lanier sends broadcast its 
invitation to travelers in the west of Georgia. **Our 
welcome is as warm as the southern sun that kisses our 
cotton fields, as broad as our streets, as everlasting 
as the gnarled and hoary old trees that shadow our 
highways," the message is proclaimed. And access is 
made easy by the Dixie, National and Lee Highways, 
which lead through the largest peach orchards in the 

109 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

world, as well as by trees laden with pecans and walnuts 
and fields of alfalfa that give such contrast to the cotton. 

From Coleman's Hill, overlooking the city, Macon 
presents a picture full of life and color. The business 
district, with its lofty buildings, the comfortable-look- 
ing residence section, the spacious streets, roomy Tatt- 
nall Square, and the park where trees flourish, make 
one eager to accept the invitation to come down into 
the city that varies the appeal of some of its neighbors 
by OAvning that, while it does not possess *'the finest 
climate in the world," it has a climate worthy of the 
serious attention of those who seek a winter home. 

Because of her readiness to recount the birth there 
of Sidney Lanier and to point out his old cottage home 
on High Street, Macon can understand the pride of 
Eatonton, the Putnam County town perhaps forty miles 
north, because it was the birthplace of Joel Chandler 
Harris, whose daughter has told how "he loved the 
rolling Bermuda meadows, the red-clay gullies, the far- 
reaching cotton fields, the slow-moving muddy streams, 
and the oak and hickory forests of old Putnam, with an 
intensity that time never dulled." 

His description of the old town calls to mind many 
another countryside town in the state, and makes one 
hungry to visit it. It was, he says : 

"A sleepy little town in middle Georgia, which had 
a court-house, a tavern, several wide streets, many fine 
trees, and a number of old colonial homes. Many of 
these stately structures still rise solemnly from behind 
their boxwood borders, giving pleasure to the stranger 
as he peers at them through the screen of odorous cedar 
and brightly-blooming creeper, myrtle and oleander, 
which shelter the columned piazzas from a too-pene- 
trating gaze. ' ' 

110 




THE iluAlK OF SIDNEY LANIER, MACON, GEORGIA 




NEGRO CABIN AT A GEORGIA TURPENTINE STILL 







ALONG A COUNTRY ROAD IN GEORGIA 



IN THE HEART OF GEORGIA 

Probably it was of this boyhood home Uncle Remus 
was thinking when he wrote of one of his heroes : ' ' His 
lot was cast among the most democratic people the 
world has ever seen, and in a section where, to this day, 
the ideals of character and conduct are held in higher 
esteem than wealth or ancient lineage." 

The first glimpse of the outside world came to the 
Eatonton boy one day in the village post-office when, in 
the Milledgeville paper, he saw an advertisement that 
a boy was wanted in the printing office at Tumwold, 
a plantation some miles from Eatonton. He secured 
the situation, and while there he heard the m5i:hical 
animal stories that later formed the basis of the vol- 
umes of the Uncle Remus series. 

Milledgeville, the great town of the neighborhood 
then, as it is to-day, has always been proud of its 
sightly location on the Oconee — or the 'Conee, as Mrs. 
Annie Royall, traveler of 1830, called it. The town is 
also proud of its history — it was once the capital of 
the state, and three miles away, at Fort Wilkinson, was 
signed an important treaty with the Creeks. 

Another early traveler, Lyell, in his "Travels in 
North America, ' ' published in 1842, described the most 
striking feature of the country about Milledgeville, the 
deep gullies, four miles west of town. These gullies 
in the clay are about fifty feet deep. There are many 
like them in the central and western section of Georgia. 
The Milledgeville gullies are the most famous, though 
the largest are south of Columbus on the Chatta- 
hoochee. These strange gashes in the earth increase 
in size year by year ; some of them work backward as 
much as three hundred feet in thirty years. In the 
gullies are curious pinnacles, islands and sharp, ser- 
in 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

rated ridges. Contrasting colors of red and white 
combine with the green of the pine trees in an un- 
usual manner. 

It was through this country that Captain Basil Hall, 
the Englishman, made his way in 1828. In his 
*' Travels" he gave a description that will be recog- 
nized in certain sections, by the modem traveler. Al- 
most everywhere he found sand, feebly held together 
by a short, wiry grass, shaded by the endless forest. 
' * It was a long time before I got tired of the scenery of 
the pine barrens," he said. ** There was something 
very graceful in the millions upon millions of tall and 
slender columns growing up in solitude, not crowded 
upon one another, but gradually appearing to come 
closer and closer, till they formed a compact mass, 
beyond which nothing was to be seen." 

In the midst of the pine barrens the Ocmulgee joins 
the Oconee, forming the Altamaha, of which William 
Bartram, son of J. Bartram, Philadelphia, said in 1773 : 

''How gently flow thy peaceful floods, Altamaha! 
How sublimely rise to view, on thy elevated shore, your 
magnolia groves, from whose top the surrounding ex- 
panse is perfumed, by clouds of incense, blended Avith 
the exhaling balm of the liquid amber, and odours con- 
tinually rising from circumambient groves." 

The Altamaha reaches the sea between two famous 
districts. To the north are the lands of the old Mar- 
gravate of Azilia, granted in 1717 by the Carolina Pro- 
prietaries to Sir Robert Montgomery, on condition of 
payment of an annual quitrent and one-fourth part of 
all gold and silver found in Azilia. But the would-be 
Margrave was unable to secure colonists, and the lands 
reverted to Carolina. 

112 



IN THE HEART OF GEORGIA 

It was Sidney Lanier who gave fame to a bit of 
the country to the south of the Altamaha, the Marshes 
of Glynn, which lie close to Brunswick : 

To the edge of the wood I am drawn, I am drawn, 
Where the gray beach glimmering rims, as a belt of the dawn, 
For a mete and a mark 
To the forest dark: 
So: 
Affable live-oak, leaning low, — 
Thus — with your favor — soft, with a reverent hand 
( Not lightly touching your person, lord of the land ! ) , 
Bending your beauty aside, with a step I stand 
On the firm-packed sand, 

Free 
By a world of marsh that borders a world of sea. 
Sinuous southward and sinuous northward the shimmering band 
Of the sand-beach fastens the fringe of the marsh to the folds of 
the land. 
Inward and outward to northward and southward the beach-lines linger 

and curl 
As a silver-wrought garment that clings to and follows the firm sweet 
limbs of a girl. 

Above the marshes is Brunswick, summer resort 
where shell roads lure to land exploration, while in- 
tricate waterways call to the fisherman and the boat- 
man. Then it is the gateway to famous St. Simon's 
island, twelve miles away, where eight miles of beach 
make bathing a dehght, where roads under the wide- 
spreading, dreamy, moss-festooned oaks point the way 
to spots made memorable by the visits of early ex- 
plorers and by the gathering of the crowds which came 
to hear John Wesley preach. 



CHAPTER XI 
IN GEORGIA'S LAND OF V^ONDERS 

THE southern counties of Georgia are the home 
of strange natural features that make the re- 
gion remarkable all the way from Albany on 
the Flint Eiver to the banks of St. Mary's, not far 
from Jacksonville, Florida. 

Among Albany's claims to the interest both of 
scientists and of the curious is the great flowing Blue 
Spring, four miles south of town, where the water rises 
under pressure through a roughly circular opening in 
limestone. The flow is enormous — from eighteen mil- 
lion gallons to eighty-seven million gallons in twenty- 
four hours. The water is described as beautifully clear 
and very transparent, though faintly bluish in color. 
This, the largest of a number of springs near the 
Florida line, has been studied carefully by scientists 
because of its unusual characteristics. 

From Valdosta to the Alabama line the limestone 
through which springs flow is responsible also for curi- 
ous lime-sinks, where underground caverns have col- 
lapsed. In the basins so formed lakes and ponds have 
come. Many of these bodies of water are several 
hundred acres in extent, while others are much smaller. 
The largest. Ocean Pond, near Valdosta, has an area 
of about six square miles. An odd thing is that, while 
large lakes are free from timber, the smaller ponds are 
bordered by a thick growth of cypress. The depth of 
water varies greatly with the season, not because of 

114 



IN GEORGIA'S LAND OF WONDERS 

rainfall, but because of the opening or closing of 
passages underground. 

While the lakes have clear water the slow-moving, 
canal-like rivers of the limestone region are dark, not 
because of mud, but by reason of the organic matter 
carried by them. The Ocklockonee and the Withla- 
coochee are examples. 

Then there are the bays in which many of the creeks 
of this strange region have their sources. Sometimes 
these bays are called swamps, but with their densely 
wooded area they are more attractive than swamps. 
The luxurious vegetation conserves the rainfall, and 
so makes possible the creeks. Chuff Bay, seven miles 
west of Waycross, is one of the best examples of 
the bay. 

The name of these creek-sources is not intended to 
call to mind the indentations on the seacoast which bear 
the same title ; probably it came from the presence of 
dense growths of bay trees along extensions of creeks 
and river swamps into the heart of higher lands, which 
are supplied with water by drainage. These extensions 
are also known as bays, though they are quite differ- 
ent from the moist, wooded sources of creeks. 

Many of these creeks, as well as some of the larger 
streams, are bordered by sand hills, or belts, which 
are frequently several miles wide and from twenty to 
thirty feet thick. One of the best places to see these 
sand hills — reminders of the desert, the south shore 
of Lake Michigan, or the wind-swept seacoast of parts 
of Virginia — is near "Waycross, along the Satilla River. 

It is not generally known that one of the strangest 
parts of the United States is not far from Waycross 
and the Satilla. This is the great Okefinokee Swamp, 

115 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

whose seven hundred square miles occupies part of 
Charlton, Ware and Clinch counties in Georgia. Pas- 
sengers on the railroad from Waycross to Folkston 
go within a short distance of the northeast border of 
the swamp, most of them in entire ignorance of the 
mysterious depths that are so close at hand. There 
bears, deer and panther live. These beasts sometimes 
find their way to the surrounding country. A corre- 
spondent of the Atlanta Constitution once interviewed 
an old hunter, whose home was in the north end of the 
swamp, who said that in forty years he had killed one 
hundred and fifty bears, two hundred deer, and hun- 
dreds of wolves, minks and Avildcats. 

Although the swamp was known in the days of the 
Indians, their accounts of it were unreliable. Since 
the days of the Seminoles some explorers have made 
their way into the hidden depths, but those who have 
been able to tell what they saw have been few. 

The first written account of Okefinokee was given in 
1791 by William Bartram, who passed near the morass 
and learned from the Indians something of its secrets 
and its legends. They told him of a strange tribe of 
Indians that lived on fertile islands far from the bor- 
ders. The men were fierce hunters and the women were 
beautiful. Hunters from outside who lost their way in 
the swamp were fed by some of the women who warned 
them to flee from the wrath of their husbands. They 
returned home, told of their adventure, and sought to 
lead others of the tribe to the spot where the beautiful 
women had been seen. But they became engaged in a 
labyrinth from which there was no escape, except by 
returning to the outside world. 

It is certain that Indians did live there. A few 

116 



IN GEORGIA'S LAND OF WONDERS 

white people have lived on islands here and there. It 
is said that during the Civil War some deserters from 
the army escaped to the recesses of Okefinokee and 
dwelt there in security. 

Attempts have been made to drain the swamp and 
to market the cypress which grows there in great quan- 
tities. In 1890 the Suwanee (spelled with a single "n" 
in this case) Canal Company bought from the state 
three hundred and eighty square miles at twenty-six 
and one-half cents per acre. From private owners they 
brought the remainder of the reservation. From a 
point on the eastern margin of the swamp a canal was 
cut by dredges, fifty-five feet wide and six feet deep. 
Day and night the work was carried on, electric flash- 
lights being used when daylight failed. The rate of 
progress was about three miles a year. From the same 
point a ditch was dug to the St. Mary 's River. This was 
to be used in floating out logs and in draining the 
swamp. Later a sawmill was built, as well as a railroad 
connecting with what is now the Atlantic Coast Line, 
and much cypress timber was prepared for shipment 
and sent to distant markets. 

The president of the company died in 1895, and the 
company suspended operations. *'The ten or twelve 
miles of canal and five or six miles of drainage ditch 
began to fill up with vegetation," a scientist wrote, in 
telling of the swamp and its fortunes. **The steam- 
boats and dredges mostly sank or were burned, the 
sawmill fell to decay, and the rails of the logging road 
were taken up." 

Pines and cypress are the most common trees of 
the swamp. A curious shrub attaches itself to the 
cypresses. **It is a handsome little evergreen of the 

117 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH ^ 

heath family — confined to Georgia, Florida and Ala- 
bama," wrote the scientist already quoted. ''It some- 
times stands erect, two or three feet tall, but usually it 
starts at the base of a cypress tree, and its stems in- 
sinuate themselves between the inner and outer layers 
of the bark of the tree, gradually working up to a height 
of thirty or forty feet from the ground, and sending out 
branches with leaves and flowers every few feet. Grow- 
ing in this way the shrub might easily be taken for a 
parasite, but its stems can always be traced down to the 
ground, and they bear no rootlets and never penetrate 
to the living part of the bark. As far as known, this 
manner of climbing has no parallel in the whole vege- 
table kingdom." 

The climbing heath plant is most common in the 
bays, where the swamp muck is three or four feet deep 
and the pine trees cannot grow. The cypresses to which 
the heath clings are covered with hanging moss. 

Where the mack is six feet deep above the sandy 
bottom not even the cypress tree can grow. In such 
places prairies appear. The prairies are all in the 
eastern half of the swamp, and there are in all about 
one hundred square miles of them. An expert says that 
''in wet weather the water covers them so that one 
can go almost any^vhere in a shallow boat, especially by 
following the 'gator roads,' or trails made by the alli- 
gators, but when the water is low the prairies are im- 
passable for boats, while too boggy to walk in." 

It has been said that "from a scenic standpoint 
Okefinokee is well worth visiting at any time of the year. 
Its almost untrodden islands, its dense, moss-garlanded 
bays, and its broad, open prairies all have their peculiar 
charms. There is nothing else exactly like it in the 

118 



IN GEORGIA'S LAND OF WONDERS 

world. There is really more reason for preserving 
Okeiinokee than Niagara, for its destruction would 
benefit but few people in the long run, and the loss to 
science would be far greater. It would have been much 
better if this enchanting wilderness had remained in 
the possession of the state, to be perpetuated as a forest 
and game preserve for all future generations." 

The Okefinokee Society has been organized to se- 
cure funds for the purchase of the swamp, that it may 
be presented to the Government for permanent preser- 
vation. Sportsmen and nature-lovers are longing to 
see them succeed. 

But Mrs. Hemans had a different idea.. She told 
the legend of the island of fair women in the heart of 
the swamp, and concluded : 

Let no vain dream thy heart beguile, 
Oh, seek thou not the Fountain Isle. 



CHAPTER XII 

FROM JACKSONVILLE TO ST. AUGUSTINE 

MORE than a hundred years ago the first set- 
tlement was made by the side of the St. 
Johns, and within the present site of Jack- 
sonville. But what is a century when compared with 
the centuries boasted by hoary St. Augustine? For 
untold generations before the coming of the first white 
resident the Indians were accustomed to come to this 
locality to cross the river on their way south. 

To-day few travelers go to Florida who do not enter 
by way of Jacksonville, from which railroads radiate 
to all parts of the state. But those are fortunate who 
plan to spend a few days here, for the wide streets, 
lined with fine business buildings and residences, the 
parks and public squares, the hotels and the hard shell 
roads make the stay delightful. It is difficult to believe 
that in 1901 one of the country's memorable fires visited 
the city, destroying some three thousand buildings 

In early days the route from Jacksonville to St. 
Augustine was up the St. Johns to Picolata, and from 
there, by the Picolata road, eighteen miles. This road 
was in its glory during the days of the Seminole War, 
though both stage-drivers and passengers had to keep 
anxious watch for Indian marauders. One day a the- 
atrical troupe was attacked while on the road, and 
every member of the party was killed. Recently the 
site of the tragedy, eight miles from St. Augustine, was 
marked by a tablet. 

120 



FROM JACKSONVILLE TO ST. AUGUSTINE 

To-day those who seek St. Augustine from Jackson- 
ville have choice of the railroad, a splendid automobile 
road, or the Inside "Waterway, which has been com- 
pleted from Jacksonville down the State to Key West, 
taking advantage of the numerous tidal ' ' rivers ' ' and 
inlets separated from the coast by narrow peninsulas. 
Long before St. Augustine is reached, the canal leads 
into Matanzas Bay. Light-draft steamers ply between 
the cities. Indeed, it is possible to secure passage all 
the way from Jacksonville to Miami. The trip is not 
recommended to those who are in a hurry, but it is a 
pleasure to be remembered by those who are glad to 
spend a week steaming along the low-lying shores, often 
within sight and sound of the open Atlantic, and always 
amid novel surroundings. Those fortunate pilgrims 
who have their own yachts or houseboats will be glad 
to stretch the length of the passage into weeks. They 
need to be sure, however, that they are not trusting 
themselves to vessels of more than three and one-half 
feet draft. As a guide to navigation, which fre- 
quently calls for care and judgment, the United States 
Coast and Geodetic Survey provides, for twenty cents, 
the Inside Route Pilot, which gives detailed instruc- 
tions for every mile of the way, including a series of 
admirable general charts. Detailed charts, supplied at 
a nominal price, are described in the book. The eighty- 
seven pages tell of the route all the way from New 
York to Beaufort Entrance and New Eiver, North 
Carolina, the seacoast and inlets between Beaufort 
Entrance and Winyah Bay, South Carolina, and the 
inland water route from Winyah Bay to Key West. 
The distance is more than fifteen hundred nautical 
miles. But who objects to a few extra miles on a trip 

121 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

like this ! So many have responded to the lure of these 
waterways that the Pilot has gone into a third edition. 

The sort of detailed information given in this invalu- 
able guide mil be seen from an extract : 

''From St. Johns River to Miami, on Biscayne Bay, 
there is a continuous inside waterway through canals 
and natural channels, in which the controlling depths 
vary from five to seven feet. The waterway is dredged 
to a depth of five feet, but some sections are subject 
to considerable shoaling, and are redredged at irregu- 
lar intervals. Four feet, or even a little less at times, 
is the greatest depth that can ordinarily be expected 
through the waterway at all times, but powerboats 
drawing four feet and even a little over, are able, under 
favorable conditions, to drag through the very soft bot- 
tom at the shoalest places. . . . These waters are non- 
tidal, except in the vicinity of the inlets, but are affected 
to a considerable extent by strong northerly and south- 
erly winds, which may alter the surface level as much as 
two feet in places. A stranger should have but little 
difficulty in taking through a draft up to three feet, 
except, perhaps, at a few places; but, for a greater 
draft, he should employ a pilot over parts of the route, 
at least." 

St. Augustine, the first point of interest on the In- 
side Waterway after Jacksonville has been left behind, 
is on a narrow peninsula between the San Sebastian 
Elver and Matanzas Bay — the old Spanish River of 
Dolphins — and is within two miles of the open Atlantic. 
Here Ponce de Leon landed in 1512 and again in 1521, 
but the first permanent settlement on the site of the 
old Indian town Selooe was not made until September, 
1565, when Pedro Menendez de Aviles took possession 

122 



FROM JACKSONVILLE TO ST. AUGUSTINE 

in the name of Philip II of Spain, and named the place 
St. Augustine. 

During two hundred and fifty years the settlement 
endured sieges from enemies who came by sea and as- 
saults by Indians who came by land. Spain and France 
and England played hide-and-seek upon the battlements 
erected in early days. 

In 1763, when England exchanged Cuba for 
Florida, St. Augustine was spoken of as ''running 
along the shore at the foot of a pleasant hill adorned 
with trees, down by the sea side standeth the church 
and monastery of St. Augustine. The best part of 
the town is called St. John's fort. The town is also 
fortified with bastions and with cannon. On the north 
and south, outside the walls, are the Indian towns. ' ' 

England was still proprietor during the early years 
of the War of the Revolution. When news of the adop- 
tion of the Declaration of Independence was received, 
Samuel Adams and John Hancock were burned in effigy 
in the plaza, which is still the central feature of the 
little city. 

Thirty-six years later, when St. Augustine was 
again under Spanish rule, the plaza was the scene of 
the unveiling of a monument commemorating the liberal 
constitution adopted by the Spanish Cortes. The in- 
scription declares that here in this Plaza of the Consti- 
tution the monument was erected **for eternal 
remembrance," yet only two years later, in 1814, the 
monument, together with others of like kind all over the 
Spanish dominions, was ordered removed, since the 
constitution celebrated had been declared void. The 
people of St. Augustine removed the tablet but 
replaced it in 1818. Thus this monument is a memorial 

123 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

to Spain's fatal method of playing with her colonies 
until she lost them. 

Three years after the restoration of the tablet 
Florida was bought by the United States. The centen- 
nial of American rule is to be celebrated in 1921. 

Within reach of the sleepy old plaza, and not far 
from the Ponce de Leon and Cordova hotels, are some 
of St. Augustine's oldest buildings. The cathedral, on 
the north, was begun in 1793. In the fire of 1887 it was 
destroyed, only the walls remaining. While it was 
enlarged when rebuilt, the central portion appears as it 
was before the fire. The attention of visitors is called 
to the four old bells, one of them dating from 1682. 

To the west is the post-office, erected in 1591. Here 
the Spanish governors had their residence. And one 
block south is the public library, which was the 
king 's bakery. 

In several directions from the plaza is "the oldest 
house in the United States." There are at least four 
houses for which the claim is made. One is the old 
Fabio Hotel, with balcony overhanging the narrow Hos- 
pital Street and boarded-up doors and windows. When 
the author visited it the only occupant was an old-time 
cabinet-maker who was lovingly fashioning curios out 
of driftwood picked up on Anastasia Island, the city's 
beach resort across the Matanzas. This building, like 
many others in early St. Augustine, was constructed of 
the curious coquina or shell rock. 

The second attempt to find the oldest house led to 
the Whitney House, w^hose coquina floors and mahog- 
any doors made it look quite ancient. During a pause 
to read the brazen claim that it was built in 1516 by 
Don de Tolledo, companion of Ponce de Leon on his 

124 



FROM JACKSONVILLE TO ST. AUGUSTINE 

first voyage, the doorkeeper urged the reader's en- 
trance. ''Only twenty-five cents to see the oldest 
house, ' ' she wheedled. ' ' But I am looking for the house 
where the Historical Society has its quarters," she was 
told. ' ' That house ! ' ' she replied, with a curl of the lip. 
* * Why, it was begun when this house was old. ' ' 

Nevertheless, the Chamber of Conunerce, after a 
thorough investigation, has expressed the opinion that 
the house thus despised, the Geronimo Alvarez House 
on St. Francis Street, has the right to precedence. For 
this the claim is made that it was built in 1565 — surely 
a more modest story than that told for its rival. It is 
difficult to see how the first house in St. Augustine could 
have been built nearly fifty years before the city 
was founded ! 

But for some reason St. Augustine people are not 
unanimous in owning that they have enough relics of 
undoubted antiquity to render it unnecessary to malve 
themselves ridiculous by permitting false statements. 
Within a short distance of hoary Fort Marion are the 
gates of the Fountain of Youth Park, where, after the 
unwary tourist has been relieved of an admission fee, 
he is shown the spring discovered by Ponce de Leon at 
his first landing; the cross of coquina blocks, buried 
deep in the earth, by which he told the year of his land- 
ing — fifteen blocks make one arm of the cross, while 
there are thirteen blocks in the shorter arm ; the avenue 
of palm trees down which, on a certain day, the sun 
shines in a special way on the cross, as planned by 
Ponce de Leon; the coquina pyramid laid by the dis- 
coverer, under which he buried his armor and sword, in 
token of possession of the land; the armor and sword 
themselves, discovered under the pyramid ; the coquina 

125 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

blocks of the ruined first chapel in America, built by 
him, and other things, ad nauseam. 

''Why do you tell these lies?" the editor of a St. 
Augustine newspaper asked the woman who was re- 
sponsible for starting the stories. ''Well, can you prove 
they are lies ? ' ' she asked triumphantly. 

The official tourist 's guide to the city speaks of the 
Fountain of Youth in noncommital terms : ' ' We come to 
this spring of crystal water. Beside the spring we see 
the cross of stone." 

But laughable fake claims are forgotten in standing 
before the venerable city gates, last remnant of the old 
city wall, and in going into Fort Marion, begun in 1665 
on the site of temporary fortifications, and completed 
in 1756. It is said that thirty million dollars were spent 
on the fortification during those years. No wonder the 
King of Spain said, "Its curtains and bastions must 
be made of solid silver." 

This most perfect specimen of a fortress of long 
ago, with its bastions and tower, its plaza, ramp and 
terreplein, its casemates, powder magazine and dun- 
geon, its moat and hot-shot oven, is a polygon with four 
equal sides. The moat is dry, and the entrance — pro- 
tected by a barbican, as the outwork was called — is by 
a bridge across the moat and then into the fort by a 
drawbridge. Over the drawbridge go throngs of visi- 
tors to this fortress o^vned by the United States, whose 
attractions are shown under the guidance of the St. 
Augustine Historical Society. 

To many the most pleasing feature of the f ro^vning 
structure that tells so eloquently of days of strife is 
seldom mentioned — the great w^all of one of the dark 
rooms where the light flashed by the guide shows, from 

126 




WITHIN THE WALLS OF FORT MARION, ST. AUGUSTINE, FLORIDA 




THE OLD CITY GATES, ST. AUGUSTINE, FLORIDA 



FROM JACKSONVILLE TO ST. AUGUSTINE 

the curve of the roof to the floor, a clinging mass of 
maidenhair fern that completely hides the wall. How 
did it come there? When did it begin to grow? Who 
can tell? 

After seeing this fern casemate one is in the mood 
to cross the Matanzas to Anastasia Island, then to take 
the nine-mile drive to the beach, lingering long among 
overhanging oaks and cedars, and gazing on the palms 
and ferns that lead to the King's Quarry, where the 
slaves of a less happy day cut the rock for the fort on 
the mainland. 



CHAPTER XIII 
ON FLORIDA'S HALIFAX RIVER 

THERE is nothing that can be compared to the 
glorious Florida days but the wondrous Florida 
nights. In few places do the stars shine more 
brilliantly and the vault of heaven seem so spacious. 
And when the moon casts soft radiance over the land- 
scape the picture is complete. 

The best way to enjoy the glory of the night that 
makes one feel like singing for joy is to lie flat on the 
back in the open and look up. Or, if the observer is on 
a night train, let him look from the darkened window 
of his berth upon the graceful pines so clearly outlined 
against the night sky ; as they glide by in ghostly pro- 
cession they seem even more beautiful than in the day- 
light. The necessity of leaving the train before the 
dawn does not seem a tragedy after an hour spent in 
such star-gazings 

Indeed, it may prove a blessing in disguise if the 
traveler who seeks Halifax River reaches Daytona be- 
fore six o'clock on a December morning and finds no 
hack waiting to take him across the water to his hotel 
in Seabreeze, for he may have the courage to face 
the two-mile walk. And what a walk it will prove — 
down the long shady street, under the arches formed by 
the branches of the oaks; looking up at the trailing 
moss that swings so weirdly in the breeze, or down at 
the flickering checkers of light and shade caused by the 
subtropic moon ; crossing the low bridge over the Hali- 

128 



ON FLORIDA'S HALIFAX RIVER 

fax, just as the swift dawn removes the mystery from 
the water and makes clear the path to the wondrous 
beach beyond which break the waves whose sound has 
long been heard. 

Three of Florida's most home-like resorts are 
grouped about the Halifax Biver at a point perhaps 
one-third the way from Jacksonville to Miami, and 
distant from New York less than thirty-six hours. On 
the west side of the stream is Daytona, while across 
the half-mile-long bridge are Seabreeze and Daytona 
Beach, where palm-fringed streets, comfortable homes 
with magnolia trees all around, and alluring hotels fill 
the strip of land between the river and the sea. 

And what a beach ! Five hundred feet wide at low 
tide, sloping so gently toward the water that it looks 
almost a plain, sand so hard-packed that the wheels of 
the flying automobile would leave no trace but for the 
weight that drives the moisture from below. There is 
no place like this for pleasure driving, no race-course 
equal to it for the annual races where world's records 
have been made by De Palma and Oldfield and other 
demons of the road. 

De Palma may have found pleasure in making his 
mile in twenty-five seconds on the hard sands of the 
eighteen-mile beach, but thousands of machine-owners 
who are not speed maniacs have pleasure far greater 
in driving where it is perfectly safe to let both hands 
drop for a moment from the steering wheel. 

The beach is not all for the man in a machine. The 
pedestrian thinks it is for him, the bather says it is 
made for his sport, and the man or woman with the 
golf club feels that he or she owns this fairway. 
** Isn't it great?" one enthusiast said, as he made a 

9 129 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

drive that carried the ball to an unaccustomed dis- 
tance; ** nothing to hinder, not a tree in the way!" 

Just now there are many miles along this famous 
beach between the to^vns which send admiring thou- 
sands toward the sea. But some day — and that day is 
not so far in the future — this will be one great holiday- 
making community from Onnond to Port Orange, 
whose citizens — if they take to heart the ideals of the 
leaders of to-day — will not be eager merely to ask 
tourists to fill their pockets, but will at the same time 
seek to make all comers satisfied and happy. 

The beach along this favored section of ocean front- 
age is the beginning of what is perhaps one of the most 
varied series of natural features to be found in the 
United States. A walk for a few miles back from the 
water is apt to show a ridge of sand hills which has 
been conquered by those who have developed the town 
or is yet to be conquered by those who will continue 
the development. Palmetto and oak scrub grow wild 
there, as do the live-oaks and the cedars a few rods 
farther from the sea, on the heaps of shells left by 
men of ages long gone by, or on sand enriched by vege- 
tation that has been decaying for centuries uncounted. 

Then comes the Halifax, a section of the convenient 
series of river and inlets that provide the inland navi- 
gation from St. Augustine to Miami. Beyond the Hali- 
fax is the high hammock, where trees grow thick on 
low hills ; the region of yellow pines or of shallow grass- 
grown ponds, dry most of the time ; then thick forests 
of live-oak, maple, cedar, elm, and other semi-tropical 
trees, where wild flowers make the air heavy witli their 
fragrance, and orchids tempt the climber; a bit of 
prairie where pines are scattered here and there, and 

130 




NEW SMYlt.NA UUIVE, NEAR DAYTONA, FLORIDA 
On the Dixie Highway 



M 



ON FLORIDA'S HALIFAX RIVER 

then the *'flatwoods" where the low pines flourish. 
Some travelers insist that Florida vegetation is monot- 
onous, but does this sound monotonous? And one of 
the most interesting facts about these belts of vegeta- 
tion within a few miles of the ocean is emphasized by 
students of botany, familiar with the state, who assert 
that, while one or more of the successive belts of growth 
may be missing at different sections back from the 
river, they always occur in the same invariable order. 

If, instead of plunging into the interior, the tourist 
goes down the beach toward Mosquito Inlet Light, he 
will have abundant opportunity to see many kinds of 
semi-tropical birds in fascinating surroundings. Al- 
most at his feet are the beach-runners, whose move- 
ments are too rapid for analysis. Over the breaking 
waves hovers a flamingo, at times thrusting his head 
beneath the surface and bringing up a fish which he 
proposes to gulp down with all speed. But the speedier 
gull is on the watch ; he darts down and, with neatness 
and despatch, robs the flamingo of his prey, frequently 
putting his bill into the mouth of the fisher-bird and 
taking the morsel from the throat. 

Birds are so plentiful that it is not a surprise to 
the visitor to learn that he is well within the Mosquito 
Inlet Bird Reservation, where the Government has set 
apart many square miles for the protection of the birds 
as they nest or spend the winter or pause in their 
migrations to the north or to the south. 

The reservation is a naturalist 's paradise. On the 
narrow sandspit between the ocean and the river is 
cover for millions of birds, while, if a boat is taken to 
some of the many bars and islands that lie within the 
limits of Superintendent Pacetti's bailiwick, millions 

131 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

more may be seen. *'You should come this way at 
night," the guide said as he showed the way to head- 
quarters across the lower end of the reservation not 
far from the lighthouse. ''Then the coons, the skunks 
and the wildcats are out. And the birds ! I can't name 
them all; there are spoonbills and sandpipers, beach 
snipe and English snipe, pelicans, blue herons and fish- 
hawks, ducks and egrets. There is a heron rookery 
near New Smyrna, a second at Spruce Creek, and a 
third at Port Orange." 

For centuries these waters have been famous fish- 
ing grounds, first for those who came before the In- 
dians, then for the Indians themselves, and finally for 
those who drove out the Indians. The first white fisher- 
men to linger long in the neighborhood were the fifteen 
hundred Minorcans and Greeks whom Doctor TumbuU 
brought, about 1766, to farm his grant in the vi- 
cinity of Mosquito Inlet. The settlement founded 
then he called New Smyrna, in honor of his wife's 
Asiatic birthplace. 

Wonderful promises were made to the immigrants 
from Greece and Italy. In return for their work each 
family was to have, at the end of three years, fifty acres 
of land and an additional twenty-five acres for each 
child. In the hope of winning this bit of land, the col- 
onists toiled early and late, clearing land and cultivat- 
ing the sugar-cane and raising indigo. Hard task- 
masters were set over them. Gradually they realized 
that they were virtually in slavery, and they longed 
for relief. In 1776 their number had been reduced by 
sickness and privation to about six hundred. 

One day a boy heard a visitor from St. Augustine 
say that if the poor people knew their rights they would 

132 










RUINS OF OLD SUGAR MILL, NEAR DAYTONA, FLORIDA 
Dating from about 1766 




ON THE HALIFAX RIVER, NEAR DAYTONA, FLORIDA 



II 



ON FLORIDA'S HALIFAX RIVER 

not submit to Doctor Tumbull. The boy told his mother 
the hopeful words, and as a result a council was called. 
That night three men were sent to St. Augustine to see 
the governor. When they returned they urged the 
entire company to go north for refuge. At once a 
strange cavalcade was formed. The historian tells how 
the women and children, with the old men, were placed 
in the center, while the stoutest men, armed with 
wooden spears, took their places in front and rear. 
They had not gone far when the overseer, having dis- 
covered their flight, pursued them, but was unable to 
persuade them to return. Three days later they reached 
St. Augustine, where they made their home under the 
protection of the English governor. It is said that 
many of the present residents of the city are descen- 
dants of the abused Minorcans. 

New Smyrna is at the southern end of the bird 
reservation. Within a few miles are many reminders 
of the days when the Europeans toiled for Doctor Turn- 
bull. Just outside of town, on Spmce Creek, is the 
foundation of the old fort, revealed in all its outlines 
by excavations in a shell mound. Then there are the 
ruins of the old church, indigo vats, and a number of 
sugar mills. At one of these mills, which has been 
exposed to the weather one hundred and fifty years, the 
rollers, made of some sort of bronze, are intact, un- 
touched by rust, and this in a region where any mod- 
ern metal, left without protection, soon corrodes. 

Long ago the jungle claimed once more the fertile 
lands of Doctor Turnbull's grant, but these are now 
being reclaimed, and the day is coming when all the 
water about Mosquito Inlet will again be bordered by 
smiling groves and fruitful fields. 



1 



CHAPTER XIV 
TO PALM BEACH AND BEYOND 

IN 1885 the East Coast of Florida was little better 
than a wilderness. In spots there were orange 
groves, but there were no transportation facilities, 
and to many people it seemed certain that in the entire 
region there never would be railroads of consequence. 
Here and there were scattered a few residents who 
looked on a journey a dozen miles from home as an 
event to be remembered. The Manufacturer's Record 
of Baltimore says that this vast region was one of 
the most uninviting development projects in the 
whole South. 

But in 1885 Henry M. Flagler went from the North 
to Jacksonville and St. Augustine. Very soon he had 
a vision of the possibilities of the country. Although 
he was then fifty-five years old, he deliberately set him- 
self the task of developing the resources of the entire 
East Coast. If he had thought of reaping financial 
rewards in his lifetime, he would not have made his 
plans. But fortunately he had ceased to think of im- 
mediate returns in money from his investments. To a 
friend who thought he saw the folly of the work 
Mr. Flagler said that because Florida is the easiest 
place for many men to gain a living, and because he did 
not believe anyone else would undertake the task, he 
decided it was a safe kind of work for him to do. 

So he built the Ponce de Leon Hotel in St. Augus- 
tine, at that time the finest hotel in the world. At first 
it was his wish to place it on the site of the old fort, 

134 



TO PALM BEACH AND BEYOND 

but in this he did not succeed. While the hotel was 
building he bought the little narrow-gauge railroad 
that ran from Jacksonville to within two miles of St. 
Augustine. Later he changed this to a broad-gauge 
road. Then he built the Alcazar Hotel and bought 
the Cordova. 

Gradually the railroad was extended southward, 
and as it advanced settlers came and began to develop 
the land. Taking advantage of another narrow-gauge 
railroad, bought and later broadened, it went to Pa- 
latka, on the broad St. Johns River, near the spot where 
the United States Department of Agriculture had 
bought three thousand acres of land, later planting the 
whole to camphor trees in long hedgerows. This plan- 
tation is thriving so well that hedge-cuttings are taken 
from it once or twice a year that they may be sent to the 
still to supply the camphor of commerce. Thus visi- 
tors to Palatka may see a plantation that is doing as 
well as are the great camphor groves of China. 

Then came an extension of the road to Ormond, 
where another great hotel had been built, and the de- 
velopment of Ormond and Daytona began. This step 
in the further growth of a railroad system was made 
possible by the purchase of a third narrow-gauge line. 

There were no more railroads to buy, but in a year 
or two the decision was made to go still farther south. 
Engineers studied the country for several hundred 
miles. In the face of their advice Mr. Flagler decided 
that Lake Worth must be his next point of attack ; they 
said the place had no possibilities, but their employer 
thought differently. He bought the land between the 
lake and the ocean, built the Royal Poinciana and The 
Breakers, extended the road, and in 1894 invited the 

135 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

world to come to the resort where palatial provision 
had been made for them. 

Less than a generation has been sufficient for the 
transformation of a dreary bit of marsh and scrub 
land, where a few pine trees grew, into a paradise 
where roads and paths play hide-and-seek among the 
palms, the magnolias and the live-oaks ; where blooms 
of a hundred varieties run riot and the fragrance of 
flowers is borne by the soft breezes to those who remain 
at a distance from the source of elusive perfumes; 
where the earth below and the sky above vie with each 
other to supply the greater wealth of color and delight ; 
where the long breakers from the open ocean come into 
the gently-sloping, shell-strewn beach. 

To-day Palm Beach is society's chief Florida resort. 
For weeks carefully-groomed men and daintily-gowned 
women throng the piazzas and the public rooms of the 
Royal Poinciana and The Breakers; they sail on the 
blue Lake Worth or bathe in its quiet waters, or seek 
the beach where waves are more boisterous ; they ride 
in the interminable line of wheel-chairs, down the Lake 
Drive, under the cocoanut palms, or along the Jungle 
Trail; they play golf or tennis, they hunt, they fish, 
they soak in the sunshine. And while they are enjoy- 
ing themselves at only thirty-six hours ' distance from 
New York City, the people of the North, perhaps, are 
facing a blizzard. 

The railroad builder did not rest on the laurels 
won when he completed his route to Palm Beach ; his 
interest in the resort did not wane, for here he built 
his own winter home, Whitehall, and also a church for 
the tourists, as he had done already at St. Augustine, 
and would do later at Miami. 

136 




A GLIMPSE OF THE ROYAL POINCIANA HOTEL, PALM BEACH, FLORIDA 
From " Winter Journeys in the South," by courtesy of John Martin Hammond, Esq. 



TO PALM BEACH AND BEYOND 

Miami was not in existence when the railroad be- 
gan to follow the route blazed out by Mr. Flagler when 
he went by wagon through lands that looked most un- 
promising to Bay Biscayne and the Miami River. In 
1896 trains were running to Miami, and the Royal 
Palm Hotel was completed. 

Surely this would be the southern limit of progress, 
most people thought. What was there below? But 
the man who had a vision of great things for Eastern 
Florida learned of the fertile lands to the south of 
Miami, and pushed the road twenty-eight miles to 
Homestead, nearly 400 miles from Jacksonville — far- 
ther south than the northern boundary of Mexico. 

Then came the climax of the Flagler dream: Key 
West, the last of the strange procession of Keys that 
sweep in an arc about the tip of Florida, was beckon- 
ing to him. This was the gateway to Havana ; this was 
the nearest point in the United States to the Panama 
Canal ; this was the key to the trade of South America. 
What if it did seem absurd to lay the rails from keys 
of limestone to coral islands, defying the currents from 
the Gulf to the Atlantic that, ages ago, cut into isolated 
sections the last bit of the land that separated the 
waters on the east from those on the west? 

One day he called a friend into his office and showed 
him a map of Florida with a red line drawn through the 
keys down to Key West. ' ' What do you think of that ? ' ' 
he asked. '*It looks like a very fair map of Florida,'' 
was the reply; **what is there unique about it?" *'Do 
you notice that red line ? ' ' the magnate asked. ' ' That 
is a railroad I am going to build. " * * A railroad in that 
God-forsaken section?" came the astonished exclama- 
tion; ''you need a guardian!" 

137 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

"Flagler's Folly" was the name popularly given to 
the projected route over the one hundred and twenty- 
eight milefs from Homestead to Key West. But Mr. 
Flagler did not worry as to what others thought of his 
project, ''Are you sure the railway can be built?" he 
asked his general manager. "I am sure" was the 
answer. ''Very well, go ahead," the capitalist said. 

April, 1903, saw the beginning of construction be- 
low Homestead. The jump from the mamland was 
made at Everglade Station, where Manatee Creek 
enters the ocean. The engineers had to solve prob- 
lems that had never even been studied before. Float- 
ing camps were built and stem-wheel steamers from 
the Mississippi Eiver were brought to carry supplies. 
Fresh water was transported from the mainland, and 
concrete was brought by the shipload. Dredges were 
required to remove the sand from the rock bottom, in 
preparation for the cofferdams that preceded the 
piers. Further use for these dredges was found when, 
after Knight's Key was passed, the coraline rock dis- 
appeared and its place was taken by a kind of lime- 
stone that was fit for use in concrete. The rock, 
after being blasted in shallow water, was loaded by 
the dredges. 

Piles had to be driven through the limestone, but 
the top was so hard that holes first had to be punched 
to a depth of from three to five feet. 

Mile after mile the creeping railroad advanced over 
the keys, leaping the channels from island to island by 
means of slender but substantial bridges that broke 
all records for length. Difficulties innumerable were 
encountered, but all were conquered. Hurricanes beat 
against the embankments and tried to overthrow the 

138 



TO PALM BEACH AND BEYOND 

piers. In 1906 the boats in which the workmen had 
taken refuge were blown out to sea, and more than 
seventy men were lost. Others were picked up by pass- 
ing steamers after many days of exposure and sutfer- 
ing. A study of the damage done led to such changes 
in the work that in 1909, when the wind reached a veloc- 
ity of one hundred and twenty-five miles an hour, there 
were practically no bad results. 

At last the work was crowned with success in 1912, 
and through travel became possible from New York 
to Key West. The railroad's historian has told the 
travelerwhat to expect as he makes the last long plunge : 

* ' Crossing by Lake Surprise, over Jewfish, the line 
emerges on Key Largo, the name indicating the largest 
key in the series. Largo has been inhabited and culti- 
vated for years. Crossing the famous Tavernier Pass, 
where many a pirate found refuge from a threatening 
enemy. Plantation Key and the two Matecumbes are 
quickly covered, and off to the eastward one sights In- 
dian Key, a giant emerald set in a gleaming opal sea. 
Lower Matecumbe is joined to the now well-known 
Long Key. Here, amidst countless cocoanut trees. 
Long Key Camp, where fish abound and the climate 
is always perfect, offers a winter home for those who 
love an ever-changing but ever-charming sea. Here, 
too. Long Key is linked to Grassy Key by the mar- 
velous Long Key Viaduct, two and a quarter miles in 
length. South of Grassy, Fat Deer and Key Vaca come 
in quick succession as stepping-stones to Knights Key 
Dock. It is 'oversea' indeed that the series of via- 
ducts leap going south, beginning with Knights Key 
Bridge. For a distance of approximately twenty miles 
from Vaca to West Summerland, a succession of deep 

139 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

and varying 'passes' lead from the Gulf into the At- 
lantic. These are Knights Key Channel, Moser Chan- 
nel, Facet and Bahia Honda Channels. Some of these 
are spanned by piers and steel and some by concrete 
arches. Giant piers of concrete breast and defy tide 
and current, wind and storm. From pier to pier stretch 
mighty lacings of steel to carry the traffic of men and 
things to the southward. To the westward lies the 
Gulf of Mexico, clear to the setting sun ; to the eastward 
rolls the broad ocean that tempted Columbus, where 
one must sail and sail and never cry 'Land Ho!' until 
he sights Cape Blanco on the coast of Africa, and it is 
nearly five thousand miles, straight to the east, from 
the desert sea of the South bridged by man's inventive- 
ness to the heart of the Desert of Sahara." 

Thence to Key West, the Queen of the Keys, by way 
of five smaller keys, Summerland, Big Pine, Cudioe, 
Big Coppitt and Boca Chica. There, at its terminal, 
on land reclaimed from the sea, the railroad delivers 
its passengers direct to the Havana ferry. 

**The most unique railway in the world," this has 
been called. ' ' This road, probably more than any other 
road in the United States, broadens out into inter- 
national importance, " the Manufacturer's Record said, 
and added, **No other railroad of modern times has 
received such universal attention and wide pubhcity." 

There are seventeen miles of permanent bridge 
work, the longest bridge being between Knights Key 
and Little Duck Key. This, with approaches, is over 
seven miles long. Long Key Viaduct, of reinforced 
concrete arches, is one of the remarkable features of 
the work. Sometimes the water crossed is but a few 
inches in depth, but at Bahia Honda Harbor the foun- 

140 




OVERSEAS TO KEY WEST, FLORIDA 




A KEY WEST RESIDENCE DISTRICT 



TO PALM BEACH AND BEYOND 

dations of some of the piers are thirty feet below 
tide level. 

Key West — a city half American, half Spanish — is 
a worthy terminus for this engineering triumph, for 
the city on the last of the keys has had a history of 
obstacle-overcoming almost ever since 1815, when it 
was given by the governor of Florida to one who had 
done the colony service. Six years later it was sold for 
two thousand dollars. In 1822 a United States sloop- 
of-war raised the flag there; then the place was called 
Thompson's Island. At the same time the harbor was 
named Port Eodgers. Within two years marines were 
stationed on the island, the forerunners of the naval 
station and army post of to-day. Development has 
been slow but continuous. There were two thou- 
sand people in the town when there were but 
fifty on the entire mainland below the northern end of 
the Everglades. 

Key West, with its deep-water harbor, has an 
appeal for tourists that many heed. The lowest tem- 
perature ever known there was 41 degrees, while in 
twenty-five years the highest temperature was 93 de- 
grees. The island is small, but near at hand are fishing 
grounds that completely satisfy, where several hun- 
dred varieties of edible fish can be taken ; sixteen miles 
away there is a sponge farm, and there is bathing on 
the very edge of the Gulf Stream. 

From Key West there is a delightful trip across the 
Florida Straits, to frowning Morro Castle, which 
guards the way to Havana, the chief city of the ''Pearl 
of the Antilles. ' ' The trip from New York City with- 
out a break takes but fifty-five hours ! 



nr 



CHAPTER XV 

MIAMI, THE MAGIC CITY 

WENTY-FIVE years ago Miami was only a 
■ name on the map, a spot on the edge of the 
-■- wilderness, where tangled, subtropical vege- 
tation seemed to warn rather than invite investigators. 
Only the gayly garbed Seminoles, a few squatters, and 
some families who did not worry because they were so 
far from the haunts of business life, knew their way 
about the borders of Biscayne Bay and the banks of 
the Miami River. 

But the time came when men of vision saw the pos- 
sibilities of the unusual setting — the broad, still waters 
of blue Biscayne Bay, separated from the open ocean 
by a narrow passage of sand and rock where palms and 
shrubs had been monarchs for centuries ; Miami River, 
leading off toward the Everglades, its mangrove- 
studded banks a favorite haunt for the alligator; be- 
tween bay and river and beyond the river land — or 
rather rocks, for it is necessary to make soil by pulver- 
izing the rocks — that could work wonders ; and climate ! 
Think of an annual mean temiperature of 75.4 degrees, 
the average summer temperature being 81.4 degrees, 
while the average of the winter months is 69 degrees ! 
Faith in the possibilities was so great that the rail- 
road came. And the people followed — most of them 
from the North and from the West. Soon there was a 
village ; then there was a town ; then there was a city ; 
and soon there will be fifty thousand, one hundred 

142 



MIAMI, THE MAGIC CITY 

thousand inhabitants in this marvellous place where 
climate and scenery vie with industry to make what 
will be one of the great cities of the South. 

One who sees Miami for the first time is astonished 
at the streets, the business buildings, the schools, the 
churches, the private residences, in their setting of 
trees and flowers. But the visitor soon ceases to be 
surprised, even when he is told that central business 
property brings three thousand dollars a front foot, 
and that residence property changes hands at figures 
that, in a northern city of corresponding size, would 
seem unreasonable. 

It is difficult to believe that the growth of Miami 
has been so rapid. The author could not realize the 
truth until he met a citizen who was one of the first to 
seek the shore of Biscayne Bay. He talked of Miami 
in embryo and this is what he said : 

''Twenty-odd years ago! Everything in the raw 
and mostly very dull. Sand, white rock, vegetation 
shaggy, coarse and sparse; stunted pines; shacks; 
people few and dispirited — with a few bright excep- 
tions — and the fierce glare of a tropical sun over all. 
A few had vision and prophesied a real future — a town 
of maybe five thousand people some happy day, con- 
fessedly distant. To the majority this seemed wildly 
visionary. There had been orange growers ruined by 
the terrible freezes of 1894-1895 which devastated cen- 
tral Florida. Lured by offers of work at $1.25 a day, 
dispensed by the multimillionaire Standard Oil mag- 
nate, Henry M. Flagler, who was so foolish as to push 
his railway sixty-six miles south over the coast-wise 
descent from Palm Beach and to open a terminal in the 
shallow Biscayne Bay at the mouth of the four-mile- 

143 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

long Miami Eiver, they had brought hither their empty 
pockets, shabby clothes, load of debts, and a feeble 
cargo of sodden pessimism concerning everything in 
Florida. Of the eight hundred whites on the ground, at 
least three-fourths were thus smothered in blackness. 
''Three Protestant churches alte^mated in using a 
structure costing one hundred and seventy-five dollars, 
half tent, seating eighty people, whose flaps were open 
day and night, whose benches were often used by men 
too poor to pay for other lodgings, and whose tables 
were kept supplied with reading matter and writing 
materials. This was the center of the town's social 
life. Mr. L , dead broke, was financed by an up- 
state uncle with five thousand dollars to open a small 
grocery; he is now a bank president and wealthy. 

E came two years later without a cent to serve as 

bank clerk at, say, twenty dollars a week ; three years 
later he founded a new bank, of which he is president, 
with deposits now of four million dollars. Big John 

S was bossing a gang of Negroes who were paving 

Twelfth Street roughly with crushed white rock — 
our first glimpse of deliverance from sandy and rocky 
roadbeds ; he is now a wealthy merchant, and resides in 
a mansion reputed to have cost one hundred thousand 
dollars. Bank deposits then totaled possibly fifty 
thousand dollars; to-day the city's six banlcs report 
fourteen millions. Our first high school class was 
formed in 1900 with four pupils ; to-day the high school 
enrolls four hundred. Where, in Januaiy, 1896, there 
were less than one hundred people in what is now 
Miami, with possibly twelve hundred two years later, 
there is to-day a permanent and prosperous population 
of perhaps thirty-five thousand, with skyscrapers, some 

144 



MIAMI, THE MAGIC CITY 

two hundred miles of unsurpassed asphalted streets 
and tributary roads, a building record for a single year 
of more than three million dollars aside from the mil- 
lion or more at Miami Beach, across the bay, and ac- 
commodation for many thousands of winter visitors — 
but not enough to go round. ' ' 

One of Miami's chief attractions to the tourist is that 
it is possible to stay there weeks and even months with- 
out weariness, because there are so many things to do. 
He can stroll under the trees of the cocoanut grove near 
the Royal Palm Hotel, looking out on the harbor and 
through the cut made by the Government to the open 
Atlantic. That view is restful by day, but at night, 
when the moonlight falls on the water, it is a scene 
to be remembered always. A short walk will take him 
to the Point View residence district, where the palm- 
embowered houses cluster along the crescent-shaped 
shore of Biscayne Bay. From here the road leads on 
to Cocoanut Grove, five miles away — ^five miles of 
riotous beauty. A long section of the road is a duplex 
drive, with palms on both sides and a double row of 
palms in the center. Near by is the country home of 
William Jennings Bryan, and about half-way to Cocoa- 
nut Grove appear the walls of James Deering*s estate, 
walls almost hidden by festoons of bloom, both poinset- 
tia and bougainvillea — the latter flowers frequently 
eighteen inches in diameter. Within the walls is fairy- 
land — circling drives among the trees; the mangrove 
swamp, whose curious twisted roots, reaching far above 
the surface of the water before the trunks begin to 
grow, seem like a weird reminder of a bad dream; 
the island in the bay, in front of the mansion and close 
to the boathouse, from which motor-boats begin cruises 

10 145 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

of days or weeks iii the enchanted waters to the south ; 
across the road the plantation, with orchid house and 
hedges of the curious aralia. 

Close to Cocoanut Grove is a picturesque church 
that looks like a bit of old Mexico ; as a matter of fact, 
the architect who made the plans ha(J nothing but the 
photograph of a church in the City of Mexico to guide 
him as to his patrons' wishes. And a little beyond is 
the home of Kirk Munroe, the novelist, who built his 
house beside Biscayne's waters before Miami made 
its beginning. Down among the palms, between the 
house and the bay, is the great spring which makes a 
pool, rock-girded, famous since the days of the Indians 
and the pioneer fishermen. During the Spanish- Ameri- 
can War water was piped from this basin to vessels 
whose coming was eagerly awaited by sailors of the 
fleet who, but for this supply, would have had nothing 
but condensed sea-water to drink. 

The in\'itation of Cocoanut Grove is emphasized by 
three highways from Miami, each one quite different, 
and all worth using times without number. But too 
many other drives are available to allow even Cocoanut 
Grove to monopolize attention. Across the bay by a 
concrete bridge more than two miles long lies Miami 
Beach on that fringe of sand and rock between bay and 
ocean, once an uninviting tangle, now an enchanted 
garden that stretches away to the north for miles. 
There a separate community has been built up, with 
residences whose gardens are like parks, hotels where 
wise tourists are leaniing to go, bathing establishments 
which are gateways to a beach that is remarkable even 
for the East Coast of Florida. Think of bathing within 
three miles of the Gulf Stream ! There is an eighteen- 

146 




AT COCOANUT GROVE, FLORIDA 




ARCH SPRING NATURAL BRIDGE, NEAR MIAMI, FLORIDA 
On Dixie Highway 



MIAMI, THE MAGIC CITY 

hole golf links — in twin nines — that boasts all-grass 
green, ties and fairways. A canal, hidden in the rich 
foliage, bisects the course; on this the club-house rests 
amid palms and oleanders. And there is a polo field 
that is said to be the best-equipped in the South. 

The drive by the ocean continues close to the water, 
with bowing trees on either hand, sometimes within a 
short distance also of one of the inland waterways. 
Fourteen miles of poetry under the blue sky and by the 
blue sea. Then a cross-road to Fulford, on the Dixie 
Highway, whose smooth surface brings thousands of 
motorists from Jacksonville to Miami. At length back 
to Miami by way of Arch Creek, crossed by the road 
on a natural arch of coral rock almost hidden by the 
live-oaks, whose branches are interlaced above the 
dark stream. 

And this is but the beginning of the rich offerings 
of the Magic City. Is it strange that visitors who one 
year seek Miami for a week or two, go back next year 
for a month, extend the time the third year to two 
months, and finally yield to the temptation to linger 
from October to April or May? 



CHAPTER XVI 
IN THE FLORIDA EVERGLADES 

EXACTLY as there was tdlk until long past the 
middle of the nineteenth century of the impos- 
sibility of settling the Great American Desert, 
so, until within a few years, most people agreed that 
the vast Everglades of Florida were worthless. * ' Poor 
Florida!" was the thought. **Her coast is all right; 
but think of the vast interior — swampy, useless, a men- 
ace rather than an asset!" 

But gradually word has got about that Florida is 
to be envied because of these very Everglades. For 
there are not only beauty spots for those who have 
thoughts beyond utility, but also homes for millions 
of pioneers who seek the rich muck lands to the south 
of the Okeechobee. 

Time was when it was a daring achievement, a nine 
days ' wonder, to venture into the Everglades. Yet the 
venture was made by many who reported that there 
was no swamp, but only a succession of open water- 
courses, islands, hammocks. Trees and saw-grass grew 
luxuriantly. Evidently, they said, the soil, if drained, 
would be marvelously productive. 

The words of those who were bold enough to make 
the first suggestion that everything needed was a series 
of canals to carry off the surplus water from Okee- 
chobee, instead of permitting the lake to overflow for 
three months every year, were received with unbelief. 
There is record of a cautious proposal of the sort in 
1848, when a Government document advocated the 

148 




UOAD BUILDING ACROSS THE KVEKGLADES 




DRAINAGE CANALS IN THE EVERGLADES 



IN THE FLORIDA EVERGLADES 

granting of the region to Florida, that the canals 
might be dug and the land surveyed. No promise was 
made that the lands would be productive; it was 
thought enough to say that until the canals were dug 
it would be impossible to tell if the land was worth 
anything or not. 

Some said canals were impossible. "But the lake 
is more than twenty feet above sea level," was the 
reply, **and the water will have a downhill run all the 
way to the coast. ' ' 

Even a few years ago an editor of a Miami daily 
paper, who had lived in the region for many years, 
scoffed at the notion of making anything of the region 
below Okeechobee. But in 1920 he said to the author : 
'*! had to give in at last, and my surrender has been 
complete. Not only can the work be done, but it is 
being done. Not only is there a possibility that the 
reclaimed lands can produce crops, but some of them 
are producing, and with marvellous abundance. ' ' 

The drainage system consists of five canals, four 
to the Atlantic, and one to the Caloosahatchee River at 
Fort Myers, and so to the Gulf. These have been dug 
through muck from two feet to eight feet or more deep. 

An excursion up one of these canals to Okeechobee 
is like no other journey on earth, and many tourists 
have learned the joy of it. From Miami, from Fort 
Lauderdale, from West Palm Beach, from Fort Myers, 
the stai-t can be made. A sixth canal, to the St. Lucie 
River, will give access to the Indian River, and so to the 
Atlantic Ocean. This canal, two hundred feet wide 
and twelve feet deep, will make easy the passage of 
boats of good size clear to Lake Okeechobee. In this 
way house-boats and launches can pass from the Inside 

149 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

Waterway to the late, and out by way of a canal that 
enters the Miami Eiver and through it to Biscayne 
Bay, passing on the way reclaimed land, already cul- 
tivated, as well as acres awaiting improvement, wild 
bits of hanmiock, and Seminole^ Indians in their garish 
garments, who are never so happy as when they are 
in the inmost recesses of the Everglades. There are 
only a few hundred of them, but one who follows a 
canal for some distance or one of the roads that have 
been built into the reclaimed district will surely see 
one or more groups of men, women and children, either 
in their rude houses, trudging along the road, or pad- 
dling their primitive dugouts on one of the canals or 
water lanes. 

The country finds it difficult to believe all that is 
told of the possibilities of the land where the Seminoles 
have made their last stand. Trees grow to great size 
in a time so short that Jack's beanstalk will have to 
be looking to its laurels. Peanuts thrive, cattle grow 
sleek on a small area of pasture, tropical fruits are at 
their best, com matures as well as on the prairies of 
Illinois or Iowa, and sugar-cane does so well that there 
are projects for tremendous plantations. Of course, it 
is not strange that wonders can be wrought, for there 
is soil and there is sun. Three hundred and sixty-five 
growing days in the year! 

And the best of it is that just now the tourist has 
the opportunity to see this new country in the transi- 
tion stage. In making plans for a stay in Florida it 
will pay to give a few days or even a week or two to a 
tour of the country where canals, railroads and high- 
ways make possible what, only a few years ago, was 
thought of as a foolhardy venture. 



CHAPTER XVII 
WITH ROD AND GUN IN FLORIDA WATERS 

FLORIDA fish stories date back to 1774, when 
William Bartram told of seeing in the St. Johns 
River a solid mass of fish stretching from shore 
to shore for perhaps a mile above and below him. 
Then, to his surprise, he noted, in a narrow pass, alli- 
gators in incredible numbers, waiting to devour the 
fish. He says they were so close together from shore 
to shore that it would have been possible to have 
walked across on their heads had they been harmless. 

The botanist was just as good at a game story, for 
he said that when he was ascending the ' ' South Mus- 
quitoe" River in a canoe he saw numbers of deer and 
bears near the banks, and on the islands of the river 
he saw eleven bears in a single day. 

However, there is no need either to question Bar- 
tram's veracity, or to wish for transportation to his 
time. For to-day Florida is full of game, and its 
waters, both inland and seaward, are teeming with 
fish — some six hundred varieties of them from the 
mullet to the bass and the pompano to the tarpon. 

"Where is the choice place for sport?" a passenger 
on an East Coast train, whose rod and gun told of his 
destination, was asked. 

* ' Almost anywhere, ' ' was the reply. * ' I can 't do any 
better than repeat the hackneyed words ninety-nine 
men out of every hundred use after telling how to reach 

151 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

a given spot. 'You can't miss it,' they say. And you 
could hardly miss game and fish in Florida — no matter 
how hard you try. 

''Once I went doT\Ti to Stuart, near Jupiter Inlet, 
where Grover Cleveland used to fish. The bank is 
about two miles out in the op'en sea. One day four of 
us, in an hour and a half, caught one-third of 
a sugar-barrel of sheepshead, parrot fish and other 
varieties. Closer to shore we caught sea bass that 
weighed as much as thirty pounds. 

' ' Then in the inlets from the sea, on the way from 
St. Augustine to Miami, there is the best of fishing. 
You'll get bluefish, trout, Spanish mackerel, kingfish, 
pompano — all salt-water fish. In the interior fresh 
fish are just as plentiful. 

"And game! I am now on my way down to Fort 
Pierce. From there I go into the Everglades for two 
weeks' sport. There will be otter, coon and mink, to 
say nothing of deer, turkey and quail, and possibly a 
small black bear or two. In two weeks I ought to get 
three hundred dollars' worth of fur, besides all the 
fun. There won't be any danger except, perhaps, from 
the alligators and the wild hogs. The hogs are not apt 
to attack a man unless they are wounded or angered. 
See that scar on my arm? That came from the tusks 
of a wild hog that stuck out of his mouth four inches. 
I was trying to defend my dogs from him when he bit 
me. The chief difiiculty with alligators comes at night, 
when no island can be found on which to pitch camp. 
Often it is necessary to spend the night in my light- 
draft boat. Then the 'gators may be bold enough 
to make an attack ; you see, there can be no fire. There 
isn't any danger from the Seminoles. Some people 

152 




pr- 



ON MlA.Ml 1{1\EK 




THEIR DAY S C'ATf'H 



1 



WITH ROD AND GUN IN FLORIDA WATERS 

say these Indians are mean. It is a mistake. They are 
both friendly and honest." 

The greatest sport in Florida waters is tarpon 
fishing, and one of the best places to begin a cruise after 
this game fish is Fort Myers, on the Caloosahatchee, 
After floating down to the mouth of the river, past the 
mangroves and palmettoes, and among the water hya- 
cinths, the tarpon grounds are reached at Boca Grande, 
where a three-mile pass gives abundant opportunity to 
take the fish that weigh from fifty to two hundred 
pounds and are from four to six feet long. And what 
sport a fish like that affords before he is landed ! 

Miami is a great center for the fisherman who has 
his choice of water near by, among the keys toward 
Key West, or out toward the nearest of the Bahamas, 
forty-five miles from the coast, where the Bimini Bay 
Rod and Gun Club has spent a million dollars in equip- 
ping a resort to which passengers are taken either by 
yacht or by flying-boat. 

The Miami Anglers' Club has opened the way for 
hundreds of sportsmen to go after fish in both fresh 
and salt water. Even the reading of the rules and 
regulations of the club makes the blood tingle. They 
tell of fish that may be taken by light tackle — tarpon, 
saiMsh, tuna, amberjack, barracuda, kingfish, dolphin, 
bonita, bonefish and black bass. The club also approves 
of the taking of tarpon, sailfish, amberjack, barracuda, 
kingfish and grouper with heavy tackle. 

Restrictions on tackle are stated: **Rods to be of 
wood and consisting of butt and tip — tip length to be 
measured from the end of tip to the point of assem- 
blage. Lines of standard linen of number fifty yam. 
Bods and lines classified as : (a) Heavy tackle : Tip not 

153 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

over sixteen ounces in weight nor under five feet in 
length. Butt not over twenty-two inches in length. 
Line not over twenty-one strand, (b) Light tackle: 
Tip to be not over six ounces in weight, nor under five 
feet in length. Butt to be^not over eighteen inches in 
length. Line to be not over nine strand. ' ' 

Among the prizes offered by the club is one for the 
largest turtle pegged. The turtles of the Florida Keys 
are unusual ; several men are needed to turn one on his 
back. It is stated that no turtle can be pegged when 
feeding on Portuguese men-of-war, the strange marine 
creatures described by one fisherman as consisting of 
"a Zeppelin-shaped, transparent balloon, about half 
full of green liquid. This contains picric acid, and, on 
contact with the human body, tends to paralyze, some- 
times for a considerable period. The balloon is sur- 
mounted by a sail, which, when spread, wafts the man- 
of-war over the water. The sail is of many and bril- 
liant hues, and a fleet is very picturesque. On its lower 
side the man-of-war has tentacles, which can be let 
down as much as thirty feet." 

Not far from the Bimini Bay Club House is the 
Co-co-lo-bo Cay Club. One of the members of this club 
has told of a cruise when the principal catch was barra- 
cuda, though he did catch a sixty-two pound amber- 
jack, after a forty minutes ' fight. On another trip to 
the south of Miami a companion secured a big straw- 
berry grouper or seabass. The grouper was attended 
by a school which, when perhaps fifty or sixty feet from 
the boat, suddenly jmnped out of the water, ''fairly 
tumbling over each other to escape a huge sailfish, 
whose waving fin appeared just behind them. The 
strain on the line eased off, and the grouper remained 

154 



WITH ROD AND GUN IN FLORIDA WATERS 

on the hook — but only his head, the remainder having 
furnished an impromptu meal for the sailiish, which 
must have weighed two hundred pounds." 

The champion fisherman of Florida is Captain 
Charles Thompson. He was cruising for tarpon off 
Knight's Key when he saw what looked like a whale. 
From a pursuing boat he threw a harpoon into the 
mysterious fish. Later four more harpoons were shot 
into it. * ' For thirty-nine hours — two days and a night 
— that fierce fish pulled the lifeboat through the waters, 
and there was not any stop for meals, either, ' ' the story 
of the historic capture has been told. Finally the fish 
grew weary and was lashed to the yacht, a thirty-one- 
ton vessel. But soon, rested, it began to show signs of 
returning interest. Presently with one powerful blow 
of its tail it knocked the rudder and propeller off the 
yacht and smashed in a part of the hull. Even after the 
fish had been towed to the dock a flip of its tail smashed 
a portion of the dock and broke the leg of a bystander. 

Then it was found that the monster weighed fifteen 
tons. It had in its stomach another fish weighing more 
than half a ton ! It was probably a deep-sea fish that 
had strayed from its proper feeding grounds. 

Another season the same mighty fisherman suc- 
ceeded in taking two of the largest tarpon ever brought 
to Miami; one weighed one hundred and seventy-eight 
pounds and the other one hundred and fifty-seven 
pounds. The catch was made on heavy tackle — a 
twenty-one-strand line and a nine-ounce-tip rod. 

Is it strange that Colonel Henry Watterson spoke 
of Florida waters as *'the greatest hunting and fishing 
region of the world"? 



CHAPTER XVIII 
ON THE WEST COAST OF FLORIDA 

THE West Coast of Florida is like the East 
Coast in one thing only — both are so attractive 
that it is difficult to choose between them. And 
they are so different that it is impossible to compare 
them. Where the East Coast has nearly five hundred 
miles of low-lying shore, sometimes mainland, again 
narrow peninsulas between inlets and the ocean, the 
West Coast has more than seven hundred miles of the 
most varied shore line, with bays and islands, keys and 
rivers, inlets and peninsulas innumerable. All the way 
from Pensacola, near the Alabama line, to Cape Sable, 
at the southwest tip of the state, every mile has its 
distinct charm for the yachtsman or the fisherman who 
by sea follows its sinuous lines, while the traveler who 
traces the coast by land — when he can — is so pleased 
that he is apt to wish that he could in this way cover 
the entire distance. No, it is nonsense to ask anyone 
which coast he prefers; the only way is to see both 
coasts thoroughly and decide the question indepen- 
dently. And in how many cases the result will be the 
statement, *'I cannot choose; I like them both." 

While Pensacola and Santa Eosa Bay, Chocktawhat- 
chee Bay and Apalachicola Bay, St. George's Sound 
and Apalachee Bay are, strictly speaking, parts of the 
West Coast, the term as generally understood includes 
the section below the storied Suwannee River, including 
Wacassassee Bay, Withlacoochee Bay, Tampa Bay, 

166 




ON BAYSHORE DRIVE, TAMPA, FLORIDA 




IN PLANT PARK, TAMPA, FLORIDA 



ON THE WEST COAST OF FLORIDA 

Charlotte Harbor, Ship Channel, Ponce de Leon Bay 
and scores more of the inlets whose very names excite 
curiosity, as well as the cities and towns within reach 
of these waterways. All these speak eloquently of the 
days of old and of present delightful opportunity for 
hunter, fisherman, sightseer or the seeker after rest 
and refreshment. 

Homosassa, luring the sportsman, and Brooksville, 
from its lordly eminence — for Florida — of three hun- 
dred feet in the high hammock land, are good intro- 
ductions to the odd peninsulas of Tampa Bay, a little 
farther south, all within easy reach of the visitor who 
makes his headquarters at Tampa, the city that has 
grown in a generation from a mere fishing village until 
now it is one of the important ports on the Gulf of 
Mexico, as well as a commercial center of parts, and a 
tourist city the name of which instantly comes to mind 
when Florida is mentioned. 

Though nearly four centuries have passed since 
Hernando de Soto sailed into Tampa Bay and won- 
dered at the beauty of its surroundings, his successors 
in discovery are more numerous every year. They 
come over the railroad that is a monument to H. B. 
Plant, the great developer of the "West Coast, to the 
three-million-dollar Tampa Bay Hotel, another monu- 
ment; they come by sea into the bay where there are 
already twenty-four feet of water in the channel, one 
of the bays that boasts it can float readily **all the 
navies in the world. " Perhaps they come doubting the 
reliability of the tales they have heard of Tampa, but 
if they give themselves a little time they will go away 
telling others of the glories they have seen — the water 
vistas that satisfy even those who have thought they 

157 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

could not find satisfaction in any view until once more 
they feast their eyes on the blue sea and the azure sky 
of the coast of Italy; the drives along the shores and 
through the parks and out into the open country that 
give a new conception of the meaning of automobile 
delight ; the sulphur spring of Stomawa, so named by 
the Seminole Indians who sought its waters for heal- 
ing; the Carnival Gasparilla Krewe, commemorating 
the career of Gasparilla and his pirate crew, who long 
ago struck terror to the hearts of the mariners on the 
Gulf of Mexico because it was never known when they 
would dart out through Gasparilla Pass, from their 
hiding places in Charlotte Harbor, beyond Gasparilla 
Island; the ride to Ybor City, whose buildings and 
people seem as if transplanted from Cuba to the main- 
land; the sails on the waters of the bay and its brief 
tributaries productive of joy that is anything but brief. 
That is a long sentence, but it could easily be made 
longer and still fail of doing justice to Tampa and 
its surroundings ! 

Separating Tampa Bay from the Gulf is Pinellas 
Peninsula. This is one of the smallest of the counties 
of Florida, yet it holds a remarkable array of cities 
and towns of such variety that some of them might 
well be leagues apart. Down at the point of the penin- 
sula, accessible by rail from Jacksonville and connected 
with Tampa by steamer, is St. Petersburg, the marvel 
town of "West Florida, which, in its rapid development, 
is a close second to Miami. A few years ago there were 
several thousand permanent residents there, but now 
the progress is so rapid that it is unwise to say how 
many people there are ; there may be a change almost 
overnight. Tourists flock to the resort for the fishing in 

158 



ON THE WEST COAST OF FLORIDA 

neighboring waters; the bathing on the beaches of 
islands and keys ; the clear air ; the walks and drives 
among the magnolias, the evergreens, the palms, and 
the abounding flowers, and for the little journeys up the 
narrow peninsula. There they find Belleair, with its 
Belleview Hotel, worthy to be named with the great 
caravansaries of the East Coast, and Clearwater, cen- 
ter for drives among the orange groves and famous 
vantage point for views of the Gulf. A few miles 
farther on is Tarpon Springs, center of the sponge 
industry, headquarters of scores of vessels that go out 
into the Gulf with divers who bring from the rocky 
bottom the sponges that later are sold at the auctions 
regularly held in town. Most of the members of the 
crews and the divers themselves are Greeks. There 
are so many of them that a local newspaper prints mes- 
sages for them in their own language. 

St. Petersburg is within reach of another industry 
for which Florida has become famous. Polk County, 
some distance to the east of Tampa Bay, is the center 
of phosphate mining. Bartow— a town of fine houses 
that rejoices in an elevation of one hundred and six- 
teen feet — is the metropolis of the belt that supplies a 
large proportion of the phosphate produced in the 
United States. Tampa is the outlet for much of the 
rock that is the dependence of farmers of states to 
the north. 

All about Tampa Bay and its inlets bird life is 
generously rich. There are curious creatures like the 
crane, the pelican and the snipe, and there are birds 
beautiful for plumage and song. Mocking-birds are 
numerous. And if there is desire to see protected birds 
in their native haunts, it is only necessary to go to 

159 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

Passage Key, at the mouth of Tampa Bay, a great 
breeding-place for herons and other birds, or the near- 
by Indian Key, to the north, where there is teeming life 
comparable to that at the Mosquito Inlet reservation 
on the East Coast. 

One of the most intricate bits of the West Coast is 
along the border of Manatee County, where a normal 
sixty miles of coast becomes one hundred and twenty 
miles by reason of numerous islands and keys. From 
the sea the shore is wildly beautiful, and from the shore 
the sea is a vision of untold wonder. Back in the 
interior, clustered about and near the shore of Manatee 
River, are Palmetto, where live prosperous farmers 
who cultivate farms in the country near; Manatee, in 
the wilds of hammocked pinelands, famous for a min- 
eral spring in the main street ; and Bradentown, which 
the motorist remembers for the drives along the river 
that varies in width from one to two miles and along the 
bay to Cortez. 

Charlotte Harbor, one-time haunt of Gasparilla, 
the pirate, gives entrance to the Miakka River, whose 
crooked, tree-clad banks lead entirely across Manatee 
County, while below Charlotte Harbor, at the lower 
end of Pine Island, the Caloosahatchee River, outlet 
of Lake Okeechobee, shows the way to Fort Myers, said 
to be the most tropical town in Florida, metropolis of 
a county larger than Rhode Island and Delaware com- 
bined, where less than ten thousand of the two million 
and a half acres are yet cultivated. The town is a 
center for the motorist, the fisherman and the house- 
boatman. The Tamiami Trail crosses the county, 
through regions of mystery and beauty, and the water- 
ways give access to Pine Island on the north, whose 

160 



ON THE WEST COAST OF FLORIDA 

twenty thousand acres are under intensive cultivation, 
and to the Ten Thousand Islands, away to the south, 
where water-fowl are monarchs, as well as the numer- 
ous keys between. There are so many of these water- 
ways that, without exception, every post-office in the 
county is reached by them. 

Fort Myers, established in 1841 as a government 
post, saw much fighting during the second Seminole 
War. Thus, in a way, was carried out a part of the 
plan of a visionary of early days who proposed to Great 
Britain ''the creation of two structures, one on the 
eastern and the other on the western side of the penin- 
sula, about the latitude of Cape Florida, which should 
be supplied with cannon ; large enough to accommodate 
several hundred persons, and should have sloops and 
barges attached. ' ' 

These were to be called Pharuses. In his report to 
the King of England the author of the plan said : 

''These Pharuses, with the excellent appellations 
of George and Charlotte, would eternalize the glory of 
these royal authors, who have stretched out parental 
hands to facilitate the hitherto dangerous and inevit- 
able navigation of that dreadful promontory and ter- 
minate your Majesty's conquest of the Country, which 
sets the western bounds of the Atlantic Ocean." 



11 



CHAPTER XIX 
IN THE INTERIOR OF FLORIDA 

IT is a mistake to think that when the East Coast 
and West Coast of Florida are seen the state has 
yielded its secrets. The higher lands of the in- 
terior, the backbone of the state, as these are called, 
repay attention. And approach to them is not difficult ; 
railroad, highway and river give ample choice of means 
of access. However, it should be said of those who 
choose the railroad that it is never wise to be in a 
hurry. It is a simple matter to go from Jacksonville 
south toward Key West, or to Tampa and Lake Okee- 
chobee. But those who wish to go across the state had 
better give up the notion of making close connection 
or of simplifying the intricacies of the time-table. It 
is possible to cross the state from New Smyrna to 
Tampa, but even this trip calls for patience out of all 
proportion to the distance. The best course, in nine 
cases out of ten, seems to be to go back to Jacksonville 
and start all over again. 

Yet the day must come when there will be a different 
story to tell. The present lines will be better coordi- 
nated, and new lines will be built to link up short roads 
into through routes. There will be a road from Miami, 
through the Everglades, past Lake Okeechobee, to 
Tampa Bay. Tampa will be linked with Tallahassee by 
a line that will make unnecessary the trip to Jack- 
sonville and a long journey across Northern Florida. 
The progress of railroad building in Florida has been 
marvellous, but ten or twenty years hence those who 

162 



IN THE INTERIOR OF FLORIDA 

look back will probably wonder that so many seemed 
satisfied with the old ways. 

The man with a machine can go not only to many 
sections where the railroad leads, and often more 
quickly, but he can also go to regions where there is 
as yet no railroad. For there are considerably more 
than five thousand miles of surfaced road in the state — 
brick, concrete, asphalt, macadam, shell and sandy 
clay ; and there are nearly as many miles more of sandy 
road. From Tallahassee it is possible to go, by way 
of Madison and Lake City, to Gainesville and Tampa. 
From Jacksonville, too, there is a good road to Tampa, 
by way of Sanford near the East Coast, then on to 
Winter Park, Orlando, Kissimmee, Haines City and 
Lakeland. Numberless side trips lead among the lakes 
for which the highlands of Florida are famous, where 
orange groves and grape-fruit trees abound, where the 
temperature is higher than at the corresponding lati- 
tude on the coast, where the air is dryer and the days 
are one long delight. There are hundreds of these 
lakes, and a number of the largest of them, if connected, 
would supply water transportation for more than one 
hundred and fifty miles. Many are large enough to 
make quite a showing even on a small-scale map ; others 
are quite infinitesimal. But all have charms for the 
tourist or for the resident of the towns scattered among 
them or for the landed proprietor whose holdings, it 
may be, include one, two or three of these gems 
of crystal. 

On the way from Jacksonville to Miami is the won- 
derful ocean drive — sixty-six miles from Pahn Beach 
to the metropolis of Dade County. A new road crosses 
the Everglades from Palm Beach past the lower end 

163 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

of Lake Okeechobee to Fort Myers. From Miami also 
the Everglades are crossed, this time by a road to 
Marco on the West Coast, while it cannot be long until 
the Tamiami Trail between Miami and Tampa will be 
open throughout. 

Miami is also the starting-point for a road that is 
to reach Cape Sable, at the tip of the mainland. Once 
the East Coast railroad engineers seriously consid- 
ered the extension of its tracks over this route, but they 
decided that the difficulties of the Everglades and the 
Mangrove Swamp were too great for conquest. This 
was before the plan to build to Key West was proposed. 
But the road builders have not been deterred by diffi- 
culties; so the machine can make its way far south 
amid some of the choicest scenery of a state that has 
so much to offer that descriptive adjectives fail. 

Dade County's part of the highway toward Cape 
Sable — the Ingraham Highway, it is called — ^has been 
completed, and hundreds of machines go every year to 
Paradise Key in the Everglades, a hammock that the 
Florida Federation of Women's Clubs has succeeded 
in having set apart as the Royal Palm State Park, It 
is their wish that this richest survival of the glorious 
vegetation of the Everglade Keys may be preserved 
for the pleasure of the people. 

The park is forty-two miles south of Miami and is 
twelve miles from the nearest post-office. The State 
Legislature ceded nine hundred and sixty acres in 1915. 
Mrs. Henry M. Flagler added as many more. Of the 
nineteen hundred and twenty acres more than three 
hundred acres are in tropical jungle, unlike any other 
in the United States. The growth, botanically, is West 
Indian. It includes six hundred and ninety royal palm 

164 



1 



IN THE INTERIOR OF FLORIDA 

trees more than one hundred feet high, stately live-oaks 
hidden by cascades of silver moss, and rare ferns and 
orchids. One hundred and twenty-three species of 
birds, including both native and migrating varieties, 
have been listed. 

It is the purpose of the Federation to preserve the 
jungle in its natural state, so far as possible. The 
state gives one dollar per year toward the expenses, but 
Dade County is much more liberal. Most of the funds 
needed come directly from the women, or from the five 
hundred acres of the tract that are rented to farmers. 
Although the burden of raising the funds required is 
great, the women wish to add to their responsibilities 
by establishing a bird sanctuary in four sections of 
swamp land adjoining the park which they hope to 
persuade Florida to give for the purpose. 

During a recent year visitors from forty-five states. 
Nova Scotia, Ontario, Saskatchewan, the Philippine 
Islands, Porto Rico, Brazil and the Bahamas registered 
at the park, many of them being entertained at the com- 
fortable lodge kept open for their accommodation. 
Probably half of the visitors failed to register. Nearly 
twelve hundred automobiles entered the park during 
the year. 

One of the visitors, himself a scientist, said en- 
thusiastically : 

* ' I have been all over the warmer parts of Florida, 
including the lower Keys, throughout the length and 
breadth of Cuba, the Republic of Haiti, the entire island 
of Jamaica, and quite a little of Spanish Honduras. 
I have sailed through the lovely Bahama Archipelago 
and landed on several of its islands. I have visited 
the Bermudas, and cruised again and again through 

165 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

the entire Mediterranean and down the West Coast of 
Africa, but my eyes have never rested on any spot 
on earth as beautiful as Paradise Key." 

Some day the Royal Palm State Park may be made 
a National Park, but always the honor will belong to 
the women of Florida, who saved it from destruction 
and preserved it for posterity. 

Other tropical delights of interior Florida are open 
to those who take any one of a dozen of the unrivaled 
water trips, for instance the journey from Kissimmee 
through Tohopekaliga Lake, Cypress Lake, Lake Kis- 
simmee, the Kissimmee River, Lake Okeechobee, and 
the Caloosahatchee River to the Gulf of Mexico. Then 
there are trips on the Tomoka River, from Daytona, 
and on the Suwannee River. Though these rivers are 
widely separated, both lead into unexpected tangles of 
trees with their festoons of Spanish moss. From 
Tampa a popular trip is on the bay and up the Mana- 
tee River, among the orange groves. The stream, very 
wide at the start, narrows, rapidly, especially above 
the forks. 

But of all the rivers in Florida the Ocklawaha offers 
what many consider the choicest tour of all. The start 
is at Palatka. First come twenty-five miles on the St. 
Johns River, then follow one hundred miles on the 
Ocklawaha, and finally nine miles on Silver River. A 
map of the narrow, crooked Ocklawaha looks like the 
writhings of a snake in torture. But there is no tor- 
ture for the fortunate passenger who moves among 
the dense growth of cypress, palmetto, pine, gum, palm, 
horse-chestnut, bay, dogwood, rhododendron and wood- 
bine. The daylight trip is a revelation, and the journey 
by night is a wonder — for then the searchlight, playing 

166 



'^"' y "r^' -wm 




IN THE INTERIOR OF FLORIDA 

on the overhanging trees, gives them a beauty that 
seems unearthly. 

The last bit of the ride, on the Silver River, is on 
sparkling water, where the bottom may be seen with 
distinctness. The river issues from Silver Springs, 
where the flow is estimated to be three hundred million 
gallons a day. There the prosaic steamer no longer 
satisfies ; it is necessary to enter one of the glass-bot- 
tomed rowboats that the animal life below may be 
studied, and the water bubbling from the sands. 

But the best known of the river trips is up the St. 
Johns from Jacksonville to Sanford. The journey re- 
quires nineteen hours, and the fare, which includes 
meals and berth, is surprisingly reasonable. The jour- 
ney past the crowding trees on the bank, and among the 
hyacinths on the water that seem to bar the passage 
of the steamer, is so pleasant that many who take it 
once say they will never again willingly use the rail- 
road to Sanford. Strange birds fly overhead, herons 
stand on the banks, at times alligators slip with 
a splash into the water or lift impudent snouts above 
the surface. 

Thirty miles from Jacksonville is Green Cove 
Springs, a resort famous in the days before the rail- 
roads, when steamers from New York entered the 
broad St. Johns and delivered at the springs the pas- 
sengers attracted by the sulphur and chalybeate waters 
which came from a depth of forty feet. 

At Green Cove Springs the St. Johns is five miles 
wide, and for some distance it continues so wide and 
deep that the steamers from the Atlantic find no dif- 
ficulty in going as far as Palatka, a point of such im- 
portance that the East Coast Railroad makes for it the 
only departure from its course close to the Atlantic. 



CHAPTER XX 
IN WEST FLORIDA 

NOT many of those who pass through Alabama 
on the New York and New Orleans limited 
realize, when they reach Flomaton Junction, 
almost on the line between Alabama and Florida, that 
they are on historic ground. This was a point on one 
of the earliest railroads projected in the United States, 
to mn from Pensacola to Montgomery. The original 
project dates from 1836. Iron and cars were brought 
from England. Three shiploads of Irish laborers were 
imported, but they fought among themselves and it 
was necessary to replace them by four shiploads of 
Dutch workmen. The roadbed was graded all the way 
to Montgomery, but not until after the Civil War was 
the work completed to Flomaton. 

Pensacola, the terminus of the historic road, has 
a history as varied and interesting as that of St. Augus- 
tine. Possibly Ponce de Leon visited the bay in 1513. 
Pamfilo de Narvaez certainly paused there fifteen years 
later, and in 1540 Maldonado led De Soto's fleet into 
the harbor and named it Puerto d'Auchusi. But the 
first real settlement was not made until 1559, when 
Tristan de Luna named the harbor Santa Maria and 
built a fort near the present Fort Barrancas. In 1561 
his colonists withdrew and the favored spot was with- 
out other inhabitants than the Indians until 1696, when 
Don Andres d'Arriola built Fort San Carlos, where 
Fort Barrancas now stands, six miles south of Pensa- 

168 



IN WEST FLORIDA 

cola, near the mouth of the bay. He called the set- 
tlement Pensacola. During the succeeding one hundred 
and sixty-six years, four different countries ruled Pen- 
sacola in startling succession — first Spain, then France, 
then Spain, then France, then Spain, then Great Brit- 
ain, then Spain, and finally the United States. For a 
time the flag of the Confederate States flew over the 
city, though never over Fort Pickens, situated on the 
west end of Santa Eosa Island, where the Spanish made 
their settlement in 1723, when the French under De 
Bienville yielded possession, remaining there until 
1754. A hurricane drove them back to the mainland. 
That year saw the real beginning of Pensacola, which 
now rules the most important deep-water harbor south 
of Hampton Roads, and boasts a large United States 
naval station. 

"When the city was laid out, a large territory, 
bounded by Intendencia Street, was reserved for a 
park, but the limits have been gradually reduced until 
all that is left of it is in Surville Square and Fer- 
dinand Square. Palafox Hill is the modem name of 
old Gage Hill, once the site of an observatory where 
watch was kept for pirates. 

One of the chief attractions of the neighborhood 
of Pensacola is the Florida National Forest to the 
east of the city. This includes lands bought in 1828 
by the Government for the navy, the live-oak being 
desirable for shipbuilding purposes. More than seven 
hundred square miles in Santa Rosa, Okaloosa and 
Walton Counties were, in 1908, withdrawn from 
homestead entry, that the National Forest might 
be established. 

A visit to this Florida National Forest should be 

169 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

made a part of a trip to the South. There is a good 
automobile road across the pine lands from Crestview 
to Niceville on Boggy Bayou, and from that point to 
Camp Pinchot Ranger Station. There is no ride like 
this in all of Uncle Sam's vast forest domain — among 
the live-oaks, the cypresses and the long-leaf pines, 
which rise forty to sixty feet before spreading out their 
dense foliage. Along the road one seems to be riding 
through the arches of a cathedral. Turpentine camps 
and turpentine stills are numerous, and there is ample 
opportunity to study the simple yet novel methods of 
gathering and distilling the fruit of the pine trees. 

Let a day, at least, be taken for the ride from the 
railroad and for a study of the trees and the turpentine 
industr^^ Then let more time be devoted to a motor- 
boat down Santa Rosa Sound to twenty-five-mile-long 
Choctawhatchee Bay, separated from the Gulf of Mex- 
ico by narrow spits of land, which bound the narrow 
entrance through East Pass. 

Days may be spent gunning or fishing along the low- 
lying shores in Hogto^ATi Bayou, among the labyrinthine 
mouths of Choctawhatchee River, up La Grange Bayou 
and Alaqua Bayou, Rocky Bayou and Boggy Bayou, 
back to Niceville and the motor road that stretches 
through the forest to Crestview and the railroad. 

For the excursion the detailed map supplied by the 
Forest Service will be found invaluable. The head- 
quarters of the Florida Forest are at Pensacola during 
the winter, and at Camp Pinchot during the summer, 
and inquiries for maps should be made to the Forest 
Supervisor at these points. 

Perhaps seventy-five miles down the coast from 
the east end of Choctawhatchee Bay is St. Josephs 

170 




MAILBOAT ON GARNIER S BAYOU, FLORIDA NATIONAL FOREST 




SANTA ROSA ISLAND, FLORIDA NATIONAL FORKST 



IN WEST FLORIDA 

Bay, the site of old St. Josephs, once the metropolis of 
Florida. To-day not a vestige of the town remains. 

The rapid building of St. Josephs was due to the 
shallow channels that prevented ships from coming 
within sixteen miles of Apalachicola. To avoid the 
necessity of transshipment of freight by barges, a town 
was projected on deep St. Josephs Bay. One of the 
schemers, who had helped build the James Eiver and 
Kanawha Canal in Virginia, proposed a canal from 
lola on the Apalachicola to St. Josephs. By this canal 
produce was to be brought to wharves on the bayou 
side of town and was then to be transported by rail to 
the wharves on the ocean side, for loading on ships 
in the deep-water harbor. His plan was vetoed in favor 
of a railroad which, in 1836 and 1837, was built on 
the route of the projected canal. 

For some years traffic on the pioneer railroad was 
heavy, and Apalachicola suffered. A newspaper of the 
day said that twenty trains ran from Tola to St. Jo- 
sephs each day. The place grew until it had four thou- 
sand people. There a convention was held in 1838 for 
organizing the colonial government — seven years be- 
fore the admission of the state to the Union. One who 
attended this convention said of St. Josephs : 

* ' It was then a stirring, busy place, the citizens full 
of energy and hope, fine buildings and hotels adorned 
the town and more were building. Before the city lay 
one of the most beautiful of ocean harbors, with crys- 
tal, flashing water and snow-like beach crowned with 
verdure to the water's edge; to seaward bounded by 
tow^ering forest-clad hills whose varied profile was 
made more picturesque by the large ships lying close 
to their base." 

171 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

Then came a double catastrophe. A ship from the 
West Indies brought yellow fever, and hundreds died, 
including many health-seekers who had sought the town 
for the pleasant gulf breezes. Next came a forest fire 
which destroyed almost every house. Finally the rail- 
road was torn up, and the bay had little more promi- 
nence until the completion of the Panama Canal led 
some far-seeing railroad men to talk of it as the begin- 
ning of the best ocean route to the Isthmus. 

The railroad from lola to St. Josephs had a rival — 
that built from Tallahassee to St. Marks, on Apalachee 
Bay, in 1833. St. Marks, too, has really come again 
into prominence because of a canal project to connect 
the Atlantic above Jacksonville with the Gulf of Mexico 
at this point. The proposal is to dig the canal from 
Cumberland Sound, at the mouth of St. Marys River, 
Georgia, taking advantage of numerous waterways in 
the course to the gulf. The building of the canal would 
mean that ships could cut off five hundred miles in the 
trip from New York to New Orleans, and that they 
would eventually be able to go by inland waterway al- 
most the entire distance between these two cities. The 
project for an inland waterway from St. Marks to New 
Orleans has gone beyond the dream stage. 

St. Marks was the meeting point, in October, 1823, 
of commissioners sent out by the United States to seek 
a site for the capital of Florida. Commissioner Williams 
came from Pensacola in twenty-four days. Commis- 
sioner Simmons required twenty-seven days for his pil- 
grimage from St. Augustine. The story of the trip, 
in the archives of the Florida Historical Society, is one 
of the most interesting relics of the state 's early days. 
It told of pack-horse travel, boating on the Suwannee, 

172 



IN WEST FLORIDA 

shelter in an Indian bark camp, the passage across the 
great Alachua savannah, of the sink called the Alli- 
gator Hole, of hammocks and swamps, of lakes and 
streams innumerable. 

On October 26, 1823, the two men saw Tallahassee, 
near the old Indian town Tuckabatchee. This they 
decided to recommend as the site for the capital, and 
in 1824 their choice was confirmed. 

Those who approach the city from any direction 
will not wonder at the selection. The situation is com- 
manding, on the ' ' red hills of old Leon, ' ' three hundred 
feet above the sea. In most states this would not be 
considered very high, but in low-lying Florida Talla- 
hassee is lofty. 

And Tallahassee is beautiful. The wide, rambling 
streets, bordered by oaks, with their drapery of Span- 
ish moss, the spacious residences, pleading with the 
passer-by to enter and be at home, the capitol with its 
columned portico, combine to make a picture that has 
no counterpart. 

Time was when Tallahassee was a busy plaoe. It 
was a point of note on the trade route from Tennessee 
and Kentucky to Florida, Wagoners entered fre- 
quently with their six-mule teams. Traders brought 
in large droves of mules for sale. Farmers from as far 
away as Thomasville, Georgia, would drive down for 
supplies, thinking the week's journey of small account. 

Among the attractive drives from Tallahassee is one 
northwest to Chipola Spring where "a, river bursts 
from the earth with great force from large masses of 
rugged rocks. The orifice opens to the southwest from 
a high swelling bank. This orifice may be thirty feet 
long by eight feet wide. A large rock divides the mouth 

173 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

into two parts, at a considerable depth below the sur- 
face. The water acts as a prism; all objects seen 
through it on a sunshiny day reflect all the colors of 
the rainbow. The spring at once forms a river, one 
hundred feet Avide and eight feet deep, which joins the 
Chipola Eiver at about ten miles distance." 

Fifteen miles below Tallahassee, in Wakulla 
County, is another of these flowing springs for which 
Florida is famous. The water is so clear that a small 
stone lying on the bottom, much more than one hundred 
feet below the surface, can be distinguished easily. In 
fact, the waters act as a magnifying glass; they are 
convex at the surface because of the rapid boiling up 
from the hidden outlet of a stream that flows a long 
distance in a channel deep underground. From the 
spring the water flows to the Gulf in a stream so large 
that large boats float on it with ease. 



CHAPTER XXI 
ROUND ABOUT MOBILE 

MOBILE has so much to offer the visitor that 
he is quite apt to question his wisdom in 
waiting so long to turn his steps in that 
direction. Think of a bay almost landlocked that 
sweeps thirty miles inland, with a channel sufficiently 
deep to accommodate great steamships, with shores 
that are free from marshes, with beaches that are al- 
ways inviting ; of a harbor development that calls for 
the construction of a dock eastwardly into the bay 
8300 feet long and 300 feet wide, larger in every way 
than the famous projected Holland dyke to hold back 
the water of the Zuyder Zee ; of stately bluffs approach- 
ing the water in a region where it is natural to expect 
only lowlands; of inviting inlets where it is a simple 
matter for the tyro to land his fish, while real sport 
awaits the seasoned angler ; of broad reaches of water 
where the motor-boat can have ample room, and re- 
tired, winding stretches that invite to lazy hours in a 
rowboat ; of a sky that is blue and water that changes 
from green to blue and back again to green with a 
speed that baffles and gratifies; of breezes warm yet 
bracing, now laden with salt from the Gulf, again 
heavy with the indescribable, soothing fragrance of the 
pine forests. 

Then call up memories of the city seated by the 
noble bay, with its streets and parks, where the mag- 
nolia, the hve-oak and the bay mingle with the sycamore 

175 



1! 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

and the mulberry ; where modern homes are near neigh- 
bors to the ever-fascinating mansions that tell of days 
before the war ; where soft Southern accents are heard 
with delight amid the bustle of a modem city; where 
commerce has thrust into the background, though it 
has not entirely removed, the business buildings of a 
less active time, which are close neighbors to some of 
the most stately commercial structures to be found any- 
where. Nearly a century ago fires destroyed prac- 
tically all of the most ancient structures, and no ves- 
tiges of the old forts are left. But somehow Mobile 
possesses the atmosphere of the past even without the 
buildings of other days. 

Latter-day architects in Mobile have learned that it 
is unnecessary to go away from their own state to dis- 
cover building materials. To the north there is steel 
and limestone, which the navigable rivers float down to 
the waiting city at slight expense. Then there is 
marble, and such marble ! To learn how fine it is one 
has only to go to the Post-office Building, a building 
of soft and graceful Italian Renaissance whose archi- 
tect rejoiced when he heard of the treasures that come 
from the quarries in the region between Montgomery 
and Birmingham. 

In Mobile they like to tell a story of this marble. 
They say that when the Washington Monument was 
building the Secretary of War wrote to the governor 
of Alabama asking for the early shipment of stone from 
Alabama to be placed in the monument in accordance 
with the program adopted for the participation of all 
the states. The stone was cut from a quarry in Talla- 
dega County and was shipped to its destination. When 
the stone was removed from the box the chief engineer, 

176 



ROUND ABOUT MOBILE 

astonished at its beauty, decided that the governor of 
Alabama, misunderstanding the request, had sent a 
block of the finest Italian marble instead of the native 
Alabama stone requested. At once he told the Secre- 
tary of War of the error. 

So a letter was sent from Washington to the gov- 
ernor of Alabama asking him to substitute Alabama 
stone for the beautiful block of Itahan marble. The 
reply from the governor enclosed affidavits declaring 
that the stone already sent for the monument was genu- 
ine Alabama marble. Followed an apology from 
Washington and the explanation that the builders of 
the monument, who thought themselves familiar with 
the country's building stone, were not aware that such 
perfect marble existed here. Accordingly several 
pieces of the Alabama marble found place in the Wash- 
ington monument, the choicest of them all being di- 
rectly over the main entrance. 

Time was in Mobile when it was possible to say, as 
did a visitor in 1874, that the city was "tranquil and 
free from commercial bustle . . . there is no activ- 
ity; the town is as still as one of those ancient fishing 
villages on the Massachusetts coast when the fishermen 
are away." But that time has passed forever. The 
city is no longer content simply to dream of its won- 
derful history. Or, possibly, the thought of that liis- 
tory is proving an inspiration to performances that 
are making the city great. 

No wonder! For Mobile's story goes back nearly 
four centuries, and the record is full of thrills. It 
begins with the coming of De Soto and his armored 
CastiHans to the Indian village, Mauviha, on Choctaw 
Bluff, where Tuscaloosa, the Black Warrior, held his 

12 177 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

court behind pierced palisades. The Spanish leader 
and the hundred horsemen with him, the advance guard 
of his expedition, were no sooner within the pahsades 
than a conflict with the Indians was precipitated. With 
difficulty the savages were kept at bay until the main 
body of Castilians came up. Then the last Mauvilian 
perished, but not until eighty-two of De Soto's men 
were dead. The toll of the natives was heavy ; Spanish 
historians say that eleven thousand Indians fell. Prob- 
ably these figures were greatly exaggerated, but the 
slaughter must have been terrific. 

De Soto passed on. Indians came and went. At 
last, in 1699, the French D'lbei-ville landed with his 
colonists on Dauphin's Island, which they called Mas- 
sacre Island, because they found so many human bones 
there. Then, in 1711, De Bienville built Fort St. Louis 
on the west side of the bay and laid out the town of 
Mobile, which he named from the Indians who called 
themselves Mobilians. 

The importance of Mobile was recognized almost 
from the first. The French thought of it as a key to 
their possessions in America, and wiien, in 1763, the 
settlement became a part of the British possessions, an 
English publication called attention to the fact that 
*'the Bay of Mobile forms a most noble and spacious 
harbor, running north to the several mouths of the 
Halabama and Chickasaw Rivers. It affords very good 
anchorage and is capable of containing the whole Brit- 
ish na^^. The French," the A\Titer goes on, *' perceiv- 
ing the importance of this place and the advantage that 
must naturally arise therefrom, erected on the west 
side of this bay a strong fort called after the bay. This 
place is now become to us of the utmost consequence, 

178 



ROUND ABOUT MOBILE 

since all the country to the eastward of the Mississippi 
is ceded to us by the late treaty of peace. The advan- 
tageous situation of this harbor, in the very heart of 
the richest part of the country, is, as it were, a back 
door to New Orleans, and will ever remain an unmov- 
able check by inevitably cutting off all communication 
between the river Mississippi and Europe and the 
French western islands." 

Once more, in 1780, Spain gained possession of the 
placid bay and its surroundings. Twenty-seven years 
later Aaron Burr, fleeing from Natchez, where he was 
w^anted on the charge of conspiracy, was captured in 
Mobile. The United States flag first floated over the 
quiet village in 1813, where it remained until the flag 
of the Confederacy took its place. Thus, within three 
hundred years, five flags floated above dreamy 
Mobile Bay. 

Four long years passed before the Confederate flag 
made way for Old Glory. For three years Farragut 
hung about the entrance to the bay, watching his chance 
to force his way past the forts. At last his opportunity 
came. The forts were triumphantly left behind, the 
ironclad Tennessee was overcome, and the harbor was 
entered. No longer could the blockade-runners find 
refuge there. But another year passed before the city 
was willing to lower its colors, and then it was forced 
to do so by the aid given to Farragut by the victorious 
Federals from Montgomery, who descended the Ala- 
bama Eiver to its junction with the Tombigbee, and 
then down the Mobile, through the labyrinth of its 
delta, to the bay. 

That delta is one of Mobile's greatest attractions. 
What an opportunity there is to get lost in it ! And how 

179 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

the skilled master of a motor-boat does enjoy cruising 
along tlie crooked chamiels and among the islands and 
peninsulas of shapes that are as quaint and unusual as 
the names given to the passages. Think of the delight 
of poking along into Appalache Eiver and Tensas 
Eiver, Spanish Eiver, Eaft Eiver and Polecat Bay, 
Chickasabogue Creek and Bayou Sara and Chuckby 
Bay, Nigger Lake and Twelve Mile Island and 
Grand Bay! 

And the fishing every^vhere! Black bass in the 
bayou, black bass in the creeks, black bass in the rivers. 
And when the bay is entered, tarpon and weakfish, king- 
fish and sheepshead! A three- or four-pound black 
bass will satisfy most sportsmen, but if they want some- 
thing bulkier they do not have to go far to get into the 
path of a tarpon of fifty pounds, one hundred pounds, 
or even two hundred pounds. The record catch in 
Mobile Bay in recent years was a tarpon weighing two 
hundred and fifteen pounds. 

If the boatman wearies of the fishing, he has only 
to enter one of the bayous where the cypress and the 
moss-hung live-oaks mingle with the pines and the 
palmettoes, so as to make an ideal spot for day dreams 
and long siestas that will give appetite for the renewal 
of the pursuit of the game beneath the waves. 

But for some travelers there is greater game than 
fish in the water. They like to go up the Mobile to the 
meeting of the Alabama and the Tombigbee. There they 
are confronted with the rugged limestone bluff known 
to the Indians as Hobuckintopa, though the Spanish in 
1789 called it St. Stephens when they built a fort there. 
General Wilkinson, who took possession in 1799, estab- 
lished a government factory at St. Stephens to facili- 

180 




ST. STKl'HKiNS l!L,i:i'F (HUIiVJC'KINTOl'A), ALABAMA 




OLD ST. STEPHENS STREET SCENE, ALABAMA 



ROUND ABOUT MOBILE 

tate dealings with the Indians and to hinder the at- 
tempts of the Spaniards at Mobile to inflame the 
Indians against the Americans. Gradually on Hobuck- 
intopa grew a town that surpassed Mobile in import- 
ance. Many government officers were there. Among 
them was Silas Dinsmore, collector for the United 
States, of whom it is said that he lost his office by 
injudicious wit. The story is that * ' when asked by the 
government authorities at Washington how far the 
Tombigbee ran up the country he replied that it did not 
run up the country at all, but down. ' ' 

In 1817 St. Stephens became the capital of Ala- 
bama Territory. During that year a writer in the 
National Intelligencer said that St. Stephens was ''ad- 
vancing with a rapidity beyond that of any place, per- 
haps, in the Western country." The town was situ- 
ated half a mile from the river. There were fifty 
houses at this time, twenty of them being of stone, and 
all built on lots that cost two hundred dollars or more. 
"New buildings are erected every day," the writer 
continued wonderingly. ''A hod man gets two dollars 
per day everywhere. . . . An academy has already 
eighty scholars, several of whom are from New Orleans. 
The annual amount of merchandise brought to and 
vended at this place is not less than $500,000, and is 
still increasing." 

But St. Stephens was doomed by the death-dealing 
mists that rose upon Hobuckintopa from the meeting 
waters of the Alabama and the Tombigbee, as well as 
by constant fear of the Indians. One by one the inhab- 
itants deserted it, moving down the river to Mobile. 
The bank was closed, the houses were burned, and the 
ruins were left to be covered over by the luxuriant 

181 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

growth of the live-oaks, the magnolias and the cy- 
presses. Another St. Stephens, farther inland, grew 
up and became the county seat of Washington County. 
For many years it was a favorite pastime of visitors, 
in the evening after court adjourned, to wander down 
to the ruins of old St. Stephens, there to stand on the 
crumbling stone walls, to trace the trails, to look in 
wonder at the trees growing over the ancient walls, or 
to decipher the inscriptions on the stones m the 
old cemetery. 

Then the glory of even the new St. Stephens de- 
parted, for the county seat went to Cliatom, and visitors 
to the tangled wilderness near the river became fewer. 
Those who go there to-day do not find even the rains, 
for the stones have been carted away for more modern 
use. One reminder, at least, remains — the St, Stephens 
meridian, which is the basis of calculation for surveys 
all about. Then the bluff Hobuckintopa still welcomes 
tlie approach of travelers by the river or by the St. 
Stephens Road from Mobile and urges them on to the 
forest that thickens where, one hundred years ago, 
men toiled in the shop and the factory, while women 
made homes and children played about the streets. 

And now, as then, the floods of the mighty Black 
"Warrior sweep down to the Tombigbee, the Tombigbee 
joins the Alabama, and the united waters bathe the 
bold limestone bluff, the site of Fort St. Stephens of the 
Spanish, landmark that pointed the way to the thriving 
first capital of Alabama Territory. 



CHAPTER XXII 
UP NORTH AND DOWN SOUTH IN ALABAMA 

IT is not easy to realize that Alabama stretches from 
north to south so far that the two counties bor- 
dering on the Gulf of Mexico have nearly three 
months more of growing weather than the counties to 
the north of the Tennessee Eiver. But it is not dif- 
ficult to imagine how eager Alabama is to have more 
of those counties on the Gulf. Is it to be wondered at 
that she casts longing eyes on the bit of West Florida 
that shuts her out from salt water, except for a stretch 
sixty miles wide ? And is it strange that Florida could 
not tliink for one moment of yielding that strip of his- 
toric territory, every league of which tells a story of 
hardy explorers and sturdy colonists, of Indian con- 
flicts and conquests in the face of supreme difficulties? 
Certainly it is not stranger than was in early days the 
opposition in Alabama to the fixing of the eastern 
boundary of Mississippi at the Tombigbee River so 
as to include Mobile, 

At any rate, the two counties about Mobile Bay be- 
long naturally to Alabama, for between them flows the 
great stream that carries the drainage from four-fifths 
of the state. This drainage system is one of the most 
marvellous water features of the continent; the Tom- 
bigbee and the Black Warrior are to the western part 
of the state what the Alabama, the Talapoosa and the 
Coosa are to the eastern and central portions. And 
what varied country they pass! They go by rugged 
mountains, past green hills, below bold cliffs, on to the 
marshes and bayous ; through quiet valleys and sleepy 

183 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

villages and busy town and cities; in long, straight 
sweeps and around sinuous bends; making reverse 
curves that are the despair of the navigator as they are 
the delight of the lover of the open country, moving 
silently where the channel is deep or brawling over 
shoals and ledges. There is no monotony in Alabama's 
river courses. 

The Tombigbee became the favorite highway of 
many of the early pioneers. For years they kept to the 
lower reaches of the river, but one of the most pic- 
turesque of these movements penetrated farther up- 
stream. In 1817 a company of refugees from France 
secured from Congress authority to settle in four town- 
ships in the central part of Western Alabama. For 
the land they were to pay two dollars per acre, credit 
for seventeen years being provided. After a stormy 
voyage by schooner from Philadelphia to Mobile, they 
moved by barge up the river to St. Stephens, then 
pushed on, some of them to the AVliite Bluff, in what 
is now Marengo County, others to old Fort Tombecbee 
in the present Sumter County. The site of the fort is 
marked by a monument which stands near the north 
end of the Queen and Crescent Railroad bridge at Epes. 
The inscription on the monument tells briefly the story 
of the fort, which dates from 1735 : 

** Built by Jean Baptiste Le Moyne, Sieur de Bien- 
ville, Governor of Louisiana. Here civilization and 
savagery met and the wilderness beheld the glory 
of France." 

Those w^ho settled at the White Bluff built the town 
Demopolis, but when they found that their grant did 
not include this location they scattered to the south 
and to the north. They lived a happy, care-free life, 

184 



NORTH AND SOUTH IN ALABAMA 

in the face of the failure of their olive groves and their 
vineyards, in spite of the attempts of speculators to 
fatten on them and the hostility of the savages about 
them. Gradually, however, they were displaced by 
hardier colonists ; they were better fitted for life in a 
gay city than for overcoming the wilderness. Yet the 
memory of their stay persists ; Demopolis still stands 
near the junction of the Tombigbee and the Black War- 
rior — a town better known perhaps in the days of the 
Civil War than it is to-day, for it was then the site 
of one of the important Southern armories. 

Greensboro, in Hale County, was the center of some 
of the best lands of these French settlers. How these 
mercurial people would have been delighted with the 
story that floated over from near-by Marion one Oc- 
tober day in 1854, years after the failure of the experi- 
ment of the olive growers! This was the story of a 
slave who was in the building of Howard College, of 
which his master. President Tailbird, was the head. In 
the dead of night the building was found to be burning, 
but the fire had made such headway that there was 
instant necessity of escape for those who would save 
their lives. The slave was one of the first aroused. 
When he was warned to flee, he replied, quietly, as 
if he was speaking a mere commonplace, **I must wake 
the boys first. ' ' Through the halls and up the stairway 
he rushed, knocking at the doors and calling, **Fire! 
Fire ! ' ' The flames were growing fierce, the smoke was 
becoming stifling, but he kept on. He might still have 
escaped, but he had not finished his self-imposed task. 
At last he was overcome by the flames and fell uncon- 
scious. Some of the fleeing students carried him to the 
outer air, but it was too late. 

185 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

Long before the days of either the black hero or 
the French hero-worshippers, men of an unknown race 
were active near the banks of the Black Warrior in the 
far northern part of Hale County. They built twenty- 
four great mounds, the average height of which is about 
thirty feet. Hidden in these have been discovered 
many relics of a forgotten age. The scientist has de- 
parted, but the grass-grown mounds still give a wel- 
come to the traveler who rests in their shade. 

Savages of a later day made their home in this 
neighborhood, at Tushkaloosh, * ' Black Warrior. ' ' The 
name was transferred almost without change to beau- 
tiful, progressive Tuscaloosa, whose broad streets bor- 
dered with great water oaks have given it the title 
** Druid City." The litle city first gained favor as the 
capital of the state, from 1826 to 1846. Here, by the 
falls of the Black Warrior, Francis Scott Key, author 
of the ''Star-Spangled Banner," paid a visit to the 
governor, when the journey from Maryland could be 
made only at cost of tremendous effort. 

From Tuscaloosa the Black Warrior reaches up 
through some of the most pleasing of Alabama's 
scenery, as well as through regions of some of the rich- 
est of her history. Coal and iron are plentiful near 
at hand, and farther north are some of the finest of 
the forest lands of the state. In Lawrence County a 
National Forest has been set aside. Travelers who 
pass near by on the highway will be suiprised to learn 
that there is such a reservation. For, as they drive 
along through the slightly-rolling land where is nothing 
but scrub oak and scraggly pine trees, real trees seem 
far away. But let them leave the road and dip into 
a canyon which leads them into a virgin forest of pop- 

186 



NORTH AND SOUTH IN ALABAMA 

lar and white oak. The remarkable transformation is 
staged withiii a very short distance. Here is a striking 
example of the possibility of going through a country 
in a machine and seeing nothing, while less than a 
mile away are canyons where flourish monarchs of the 
forest and glades where trees lift their heads 
proudly to the sky. One deep canyon is full of 
northern hemlock. 

Of the fifty thousand acres in this Alabama forest, 
one-fourth is public domain, but all is open to the lover 
of the wild who knows how to enjoy himself without 
disregarding the rights of others. 

There are riches of another sort in near-by Franklin 
County. Here, at Eussellville, in 1818, were established 
the first iron works in Alabama. That the founder's 
faith in the underground wealth was not misplaced is 
evident from the fact that a single acre near Eussell- 
ville, sold to a negro for fifty dollars, has been pro- 
ducing iron for a long time, and that so much iron is in 
sight that the royalties, at fifteen cents a ton, will soon 
amount to four thousand dollars. 

Eussellville is but a few miles south of the rich 
Muscle Shoals region on the Tennessee, where Tus- 
cumbia, Sheffield and Florence rule the raging of the 
river. Here, on the site of Indian villages and French 
trading-ports, settlers made their home as early as 
1779. Fifty-one years later the legislature gave a 
charter to the first railroad south of the Alleghenies, 
the Tuscumbia and Decatur, designed for cotton trans- 
portation. The track was of bar iron bolted on par- 
allel wooden stringers, and the cost was less than five 
thousand dollars per mile. On the light roadbed a 
George Stephenson locomotive, with a copper firebox, 

187 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

was run after the completion of the forty-six-mile road 
in 1834. The engine, drawing cars laden high with 
cotton bales, was able to make ten miles an hour. But 
soon it needed repairs that no one could give, and mules 
took its place. A branch of the Southern Railroad is 
the successor of the pioneer road of the South. 

The first canal in Alabama was opened in 1832, 
two years before the completion of the first railroad. 
This also was planned to open up some of the rich 
territory bordering on the Tennessee. Huntsville, a 
few miles above the river, was the southern terminus. 
By that time Huntsville was more than twenty years 
old. When the town was eight years old the constitu- 
tional convention was held there, and for some years 
it was the capital. Two years before the date of the 
constitutional convention a traveler wrote with great 
approval of the two hundred and sixty houses, several 
of them three stories high, and of the beauty of the 
surroundings. From early days the hills about the 
town have been a favorite dwelling place of those who 
sought and found *'the loveliest characteristics of a 
northern, with all the fragrant luxuriance and voluptu- 
ousness of a southern climate." The Indians, too, de- 
lighted in the beauty and the climate, but the white men 
gradually drove them away. As a Choctaw warrior 
mourned, ''Like the leaves of the sycamore, when the 
wind of winter is blowing, the Indians are passing away, 
and the white people will soon know no more of them. ' ' 

In the country of the reluctantly-departing Cherokee 
there is another town that is as characteristic of the 
upper Alabama counties as Huntsville — Guntersville, 
pleasantly located at the point where the Tennessee 
River reaches its farthest south in the state in the jour- 

188 



1 



NORTH AND SOUTH IN ALABAMA 

ney from Chattanooga before turning to the northwest 
and the Muscle Shoals and, later, Tennessee. 

Within easy reach of Guntersville are mountains, 
not lofty, perhaps, but always attractive. Lookout 
Mountain, at whose foot nestles Gadsden on the Coosa, 
another of the state's bustling steel cities, is notable, 
among other reasons, because of beautiful Noccalula 
Falls, where the water drops ninety-six feet. 

To-day the visitor to this section of Alabama has 
little difficulty in going here and there among the haunts 
of beauty in the Gadsden region, but the day is not so 
far in the past when journeys were difficult. Yet every 
bit of the country for miles around was explored during 
the Civil "War by an iron founder who supplied much 
of the metal used for cannon and shot for the Con- 
federate armies. Once, with two companions, he paused 
on a hill overlooking the present site of Anniston. For 
a few minutes the three men stood in silence, rejoicing 
in the glorious prospect spread before them. Then 
the iron founder spoke, "If ever I am able to build a 
town, this is the spot I will choose. ' ' His opportunity 
came in 1872, and Woodstock was built. Later the 
name was changed to Anniston, in honor of the 
founder's wife Annie. It is now one of the outstanding 
cities of Alabama's iron and steel manufactur- 
ing district. 

The country to the south of Anniston is not satis- 
fied with having coal and iron in abundance. Talladega 
is not far from gold deposits and is near the edge of 
what have been called the richest fields of graphite in 
the United States. Mills for handling the product are 
plentiful, and water-power developments on the Coosa 
and the Tallapoosa add zest to the study of the region 

189 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

whether the visitor has business or pleasure in mind. 
And if he seeks to stand on historic ground, he has 
only to go down to the place in Chambers County where, 
on the bank of the Chattahoochee, the last battle of the 
Civil War in Alabama w^as fought, one week after 
Appomattox ; or to Cusseta, in the same county, where, 
in 1832, the Muscogees concluded the treaty which 
divested them of all the lands left to them in Alabama ; 
to Tallassee, in Elmore County, where the Tallassee 
Falls thundered in useless beauty until they were har- 
nessed for near-by Montgomery's purposes. Here was 
the site of a walled Indian town where De Soto and his 
army lingered for many days. 

Tallassee, on the Tallapoosa, shares with "We- 
tumpka, on the Coosa, only twenty miles away in the 
same county, the honor of participation in historic 
events as well as fame for rugged surroundings. The 
town was in early days an important point for those 
who used the river or the roads for transport of iron 
from the north. And what a journey faced the men 
who sought Wetumpka in flatboats loaded with pig iron 
and blooms ! For many miles the Coosa is a succession 
of shoals and rapids that test the skill and nerve of 
the boatman. The Weduska Shoals, filled with great 
rocks and islands, where the water foams and thunders, 
while the river narrows from three thousand feet to 
less than four hundred feet; the devil's staircase; the 
Waxahatchee Shoals, with their reefs from bank to 
bank from one to three feet high; the Butting Ram 
Shoals, where great rocks three and even four hundred 
feet high obstruct the channel ; and at length the Tuck- 
a-league Shoals hinder the passage to Wetumpka, while 
they make the river rarely attractive. 

190 




CONFEDERATE SOLDIERS MONUMENT AND CAPITOL, MONTGOMERY, ALABAMA 




TALLASSEE FALLS, ALABAMA 
Harnessed for electric power 



NORTH AND SOUTH IN ALABAMA 

Over this difficult route iron was floated for the first 
capitol built in Montgomery, following the decision of 
1846 to take the honor from Tuscaloosa and give it to 
the town near the point where the Coosa and the Talla- 
poosa unite to form the Alabama. When a place was 
ready to receive them the state archives were taken 
overland from the retiring capital, thirteen wagons 
being required to transport the one hundred and thir- 
teen boxes. The cost of the removal was $1325. There 
is no record of fear lest the recurrence* of thirteen in 
these figures prove disastrous to the state or the 
new capital! 

At that time Montgomery had passed her first youth, 
having been founded as New Philadelphia in 1817. And 
even then the town was remarkable for the beauty that 
has increased with the years. The old Capitol is the 
central feature in the group on Capitol Hill, looking 
down on Dexter Avenue. In this building the Confed- 
eracy was bom on February 4, 1861, and Jefferson 
Davis was inaugurated. From the hill as a center hun- 
dreds of miles of splendid highways lead away to points 
of interest in the country, including old Fort Toulouse, 
fourteen miles away, near Wetumpka, founded by the 
French in 1714, abandoned by the British in 1764, re- 
paired by Andrew Jackson in his wars with the Indians, 
and later suffered to fall into ruins until hardly a trace 
of it is left. But the attractive site is important because 
it marks the point farthest inland reached by the 
French in their approach toward the English colonies 
on the Atlantic coast. 

Montgomery is near neighbor to the first capital of 
the state, Cahaba, on the Alabama, a town built on the 
site of the Indian village Piachee, where Tuscaloosa 

191 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

attacked De Soto wlieu he was on his way through Ala- 
bama to Pensacola. An early resident of Cahaba was 
"William Rufus King, who later became a Vice-Presi- 
dent of the United States after laying out, ten miles 
away, a town wliich he called Selma, for the ancient 
capital of Fingal; he was a great admirer of the poems 
of Ossian, which emphasized the name and fame of old 
Selma. Cahaba has disappeared, except for a few scat- 
tered ruins, but Selma has flourished from the begin- 
ning. During the Civil War the town was proudly 
called "the Pittsburgh of the South"; mines and 
forges, mills and foundries there were pushed to the 
limit. An arsenal and a naval foundry were in the town. 
No wonder the Federal forces strove to capture it, while 
the Confederate generals agreed that they must defend 
it at all costs. To-day the city is one of the first cotton 
markets of the South. 

It is pleasant to visit scenes like these, made famous 
in the early history of our own country, and every year 
travelers go up and down the Alabama River on his- 
toric pilgrimage. But opportunity is afforded also 
for the investigation of those whose interest goes back 
of the early American settlers, back of the British and 
the French, even back of the Indian, to the ruins of 
prehistoric dwellers on the heights above the river. 
For, on the way from Selma to Mobile, scientists have 
uncovered many mounds built by a long-forgotten race. 
One of the most satisfactory of these mounds was at 
Durand's Bend, in Dallas County. In 1886 a flood cut 
across a narrow neck of land and laid bare indications 
of the aborigines. Following the flood curious visitors 
found and carried away many vessels and implements 
until the owner of the plantation put a stop to their 

192 



NORTH AND SOUTH IN ALABAMA 

researches, in the interest of science. But when the 
Government scientists appeared he put his property at 
their disposal. 

During their stay they succeeded in uncovering 
numerous burial urns. These were more or less 
cracked, and the cracks, as the vessels dried and con- 
tracted, tended to widen. Moreover, many of these ves- 
sels, through long exposure to moisture, were soft. In 
every case the scientists dug carefully around the ves- 
sels and, brushing aside the earth from them, permitted 
them to harden in the sun, at the same time applying 
a quick-setting cement between the margins of the 
cracks. Before lifting, when the state of the vessels 
required it, stout cotton bandages tightened by tourni- 
quets were adjusted, and these bandages were allowed 
to remain in place till the urns had made the journey 
north. Visitors to the Academy of Natural Science in 
Philadelphia can study these vessels. 

The counties along the Alabama are not only rich 
in mounds that tell of the past. They are rich in lands 
that help the state retain its place among the great 
cotton-growing territories of the South. And this it 
has done by the presence, in former days and in later 
days as well, of men and women of heroic mold like 
those who, in 1799, applied to the commandant of Fort 
Stoddard on the Tombigbee to be married. His re- 
sponse is a tradition in lower Alabama: "I, Captain 
Shaumberg, of the Second Regiment of the United 
States Army and Commandant of Fort Stoddard, do 
here pronounce you man and wife. Go home, behave 
yourselves, multiply, and replenish the Tensaw 
country. *» They obeyed, doing their best, it is said, 
to develop the state. 
13 



CHAPTER XXIII 

IN THE SHADOW OF BIRMINGHAM'S 
RED MOUNTAIN 

THE traveler who feels that he must pass 
through BiiTQingham without a pause is to be 
pitied profoundly. It is difficult to resist the 
Iron City in its framework of hills that are almost 
mountains, with its invitation to stop and roam the 
broad streets, climb the encircling heights and take a 
peep at the steel mills. 

The first hasty tour of the combination Pittsburgh 
and Seattle of the South is apt to result in self-con- 
gratulations that the stop was possible. For here is a 
city, not yet fifty years old, whose modem development 
dates back less than twenty years, from the time when 
men of vision began to succeed in impressing on others 
their belief that Alabama is ' * the coming center of the 
iron and steel industry of America, while its Birming- 
ham district is the ultimate rival of the Pittsburgh dis- 
trict." Gadsden, Anniston and Sheffield are other iron 
centers, but Birmingham is the greatest of them all, 
and when the completion of the project for a canal to 
the Warrior River makes real the dream of water trans- 
portation all the way to the Gulf of Mexico the city will 
become even greater. 

The vision of other days bids fair to become reality, 
though it was an ambitious vision: ''For twenty miles 
the hilltops covered with homes and the narrow valley 
between crowded with furnaces and factories and the 
sundry physical embodiments of industry and traffic. ' ' 

104 



BIRMINGHAM'S RED MOUNTAIN 

The value of vision in city building is evident in 
Birmingham. Many streets were wide originally, but 
others were narrow. With full knowledge that a great 
city needs broad streets, years ago plans were made 
and carried out for the broadening of narrow ways 
even when this required the moving of great buildings. 
The Birmingham booster and the Birmingham visitor 
join in praising those who performed the titan task. 

From the broad streets in the center of the city the 
route over graceful Rainbow Viaduct — named in honor 
of the boys who served in the Great War — leads 
through the Five Points residence district up the wind- 
ing way of Red Mountain, whose summit is only two 
miles from the heart of town. No wonder they talk 
of the view from this point of vantage ! Far below lies 
the city, spread out like a chessboard, outlined as from 
an aeroplane. Beyond are the hills that rim the valley 
on the other side. Backward the Montgomery Highway 
leads across the higher Shades Mountain, five miles 
distant. To the right is Milner Heights, practically a 
contiauation of Red Mountain, the highest point in the 
city, and below the Heights the Country Club has an 
advantageous location. Think of a full-fledged golf 
links on a height within two miles of the court-house ! 

From the height the furnaces of Ensley, ' ' the back- 
bone of Birmingham, ' ' insist on having attention, espe- 
cially at night, when the sky is brilliantly illumined by 
pyrotechnics that outdo the best efforts of the masters 
of fireworks. But it is not necessary to go even two 
miles away to enjoy the spectacle ; from a viaduct that 
is close to the center of the city the vision is ready for 
all who will see it. 

Nor is it necessary to go to all these points of inter- 

195 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

est to discover their relation one to another and to ap- 
preciate the advantages of Birmingham's location; the 
view from Red Mountain tells what there is below. 
And to Red Mountain the proud resident of Birming- 
ham likes to take visitors, not only because of the view, 
but because its story is inextricably bound up with the 
romance of the city's beginning and progress. 

Red Mountain is but a section of a hundred-mile 
range of iron ore whose history has been one long epic. 
The Indians used to make journeys thither in search of 
the pigment for their brilliant warpaint, as well as for 
the dyes for their resplendent robes. In 1813 two hardy 
mountaineers crossed the mountain, built their cabins 
in the valley and began to cultivate the land. It is said 
that these men, or some of their early successors, 
thought of the rock on Red Mountain as good for dye- 
ing breeches, but little else. Yet when the increasing 
traffic over the mountain to and from the North ground 
the rocks into fine red powder the knowing ones began 
to whisper that here were riches that would make the 
country great. In 1833 Frank Gilmer, a young fron- 
tiersman from Georgia, filled his pocket with the curi- 
ous rocks to learn later that he had been riding over 
a fortune. Then began his dream of a railroad to tap 
this rich country, a dream remembered through years 
of struggle. 

Twenty-five years later John T. Milner, an engineer 
from Georgia, rode along the top of the mountain of 
ore and had his vision of a great city to be built in that 
valley. *'This valley was well cultivated then," he 
said in 1889. **I had before travelled all over the 
United States. I had seen the great and rich valleys of 
the Pacific Coast, but nowhere had I seen an agricul- 
196 



BIRMINGHAM'S RED MOUNTAIN 

tural people so perfectly provided for and so com- 
pletely happy. They raised everything they required 
to eat and sold thousands of bushels of wheat. Their 
settlements were around their beautiful clear running 
streams found gushing out everywhere in the valley. ' ' 

It was Milner who began to carry out Gilmer's 
dream of 1833, and Gilmer was the first president of 
the railroad Milner built. What a road it was ! The 
state was poor, and appropriations were meager. 
Therefore, the steel highway was ordered built **as 
cheaply as a railroad could be built and more cheaply 
if possible." The result was an eerie combination of 
steep grades, awful curves, log trestles and other 
money-saving devices. But the railroad was built and 
was completed into the mineral region when the war 
between the states put a stop to construction. But 
enough had been done to make available iron and coal 
for the remarkable creation of the iron industry of the 
South that did much to prolong the war. 

Less than six years after the war the second of the 
dreams of Red Mountain pioneers came true. Birming- 
ham was bom early in 1871. The infant escaped being 
called Powelltown, or Milnerville, Morrisville, and even 
Muddville. The proposition was then made to name it 
after "the seat of iron manufacture in the mother 
country, the best^workshop town in all England." 

Yet no one had the remotest idea that the settle- 
ment so ambitiously named could ever claim to be a 
real brother to the English Birmingham. *'I had no 
conception of its present grandeur, nor did any one 
else," Milner wrote in 1886, ''for the minerals which 
gave value to Birmingham and the country surround- 
ing it were not developed until 1879." 

197 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

In the early days of the to^vll there was a great 
rabbit drive in the swamp near what is now Powell 
Avenue. For some years the place was "little better 
than a graveyard," it has been said; it was long on 
the verge of collapse. There were two railroads, but 
cattle grazed on the tracks. * * Although millions of tons 
of iron ore flaunted wine-red in the very face of the 
town, Red Mountain served as but fruit to Tantalus," 
a local historian has written. "Although two furnaces 
in Shades Valley had made brave trial, neither had been 
able to carry its own weight, much less lend aid to the 
struggling toAvn." 

"Coal! Coal! Grive us cheap coal!" was the de- 
spairing plea of the men of the BiiTningham of these 
early days. 

The man who answered the cry was William L. 
Goold, a Scotchman, who, when he said to his bride- 
to-be that he proposed to emigrate, heard her reply, 
"Very well, William, you can go to Australia, if you 
like, and you can get you an Australian wife. I winna 
leave Scotland. So I will stay and get me a Scotch 
husband." William did not go to Australia, but lie 
came later to America — after he had married Jeannie. 
He reached Alabama in 1854, and twenty-one years later 
he opened up the first mine in the great Warrior coal 
fields of Walker, the county adjoining Jefferson, of 
which Bimiingham had been county seat since 1873. 

The story of the discovery is real romance, like all 
of the storj^ of Birmingham. Goold, when a cotton 
broker in Selma, "went busted," to use his own word. 
Then he tried coal, his old business. Again he failed. 
Next he tried coal mining. "Not one dollar did I have, 
and I dug night and day in the Warrior field, some- 

198 




CRESCENT AVENT'E, BIRMINGHAM, ALABAMA 




KIHH]' A^'E^'l'K, lUHMINCUAM, ALABAMA 



BIRMINGHAM'S RED MOUNTAIN 

times without food, for over two months," he has writ- 
ten. ^'Then one day I struck a seam that made my 
heart thump for the thickness of it." 

The discovery was the making of Birmingham, but, 
unfortunately, Goold died a poor man. 

This was the last of nature 's secrets necessary to the 
development of the Pittsburgh of the South — iron ore, 
coal and limestone had all been found, and all these 
materials, essential to the production of pig iron and 
steel were so close together that the expense of trans- 
portation was a minor matter. 

Birmingham went ahead by leaps and bounds. 
There were years of real progress, and there were times 
of mad speculation, as in 1 886, when Jones Valley lands 
went sky-rocketing. Witness a local historian : 

**Upon street comers, in hotel corridors and in 
private parlors, the one theme of conversation was real 
estate speculation; young and old, male and female, 
merchant and clerk, minister and layman — everybody 
seemed seized with a desire to speculate in town lots. 
Conservative citizens, who in the early stages wisely 
shook their heads and predicted disaster to purchasers 
of property as prices climbed higher and still higher, 
with scarcely a single exception, ceased to bear the 
market, and when prices had advanced two or three 
hundred per cent, above what they thought to be ex- 
travagant, entered the market, bought property, and 
joined the great army of boomers. Wilder and wilder 
the excitement grew. Stranger and resident alike 
plunged into the market, hoping to gather in a portion 
of the golden shower which was now falling in glisten- 
ing sheets upon the Magic City. ... In many in- 
stances the purchaser would seize his receipt and rush 

199 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

out in the street and resell the property at a handsome 
profit before his bond for title could be executed." 

During the years of real estate excitement the town 
of Ensley was founded on four thousand acres of land 
** rough and sterile, full of scrubby pines and black- 
jack, ' ' six miles west of Birmingham. There have been 
written in legends of leaping flames more of the rec- 
ords of Birmingham greatness. For Birmingham has 
reached out strong arms and encircled Ensley, so that 
the younger city*s belching fires and flowing furnaces 
are claimed by the city over which Red Mountain keeps 
vigilant guard; she has fallen heir to the greatness 
made possible by one of the fearless acts of President 
Eoosevelt when, in the trying days of 1907, a word from 
him saved the Tennessee Coal and Iron Company from 
failure and a whole district from suffering. 



CHAPTER XXIV 

THROUGH TENNESSEE AND NORTH ALABAMA 
BY RIVER 



H 



**'■' ""^OW is it possible to see Tennessee by river?" 
is probably the question that occurs to nine 
readers out of ten. They agree at once that 
it is quite possible to travel along the winding western 
border of the state by the Mississippi Eiver. **But 
that is not seeing the state," they object. 

No, but the Mississippi traveler makes a good be- 
ginning. If he is journeying from the south, he comes 
very soon to Memphis, the glorious city on the bluffs 
which contests with Tunica County, Mississippi, the 
site from which Hernando de Soto first saw the Missis- 
sippi in May, 1541. 

The city dates back to 1734, when Fort Assumption 
was built by France, but the real beginnings of this 
greatest metropolis of the Mississippi Valley between 
St. Louis and New Orleans were so much later that in 
1819 there were exactly fifty-three inhabitants in the 
place. Yet now its proud citizens call it the Queen 
City of the Valley, the Gateway of the South, the City 
Magnificent, the City Wonderful. Visitors will agree 
that the giving of these names is justified, after walking 
to the levee where cotton bales by the thousand await 
transportation by the steamers that ply up and down 
the stream; after looking across to the fertile St. 
Francis Basin in Arkansas, and north to the graceful 

201 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

bend, noteworthy among lovers of river scenery ; after 
standing in Court Square, in the heart of the business 
district, or riding to some of the beautiful parks that 
enable Memphians to boast that they have the finest 
park system in the South ; after gazing in admiration at 
the Shelby County Court House, whose chaste classic 
lines are the admiration of lovers of art ; after securing 
satisfying glimpses of the rich home life without which 
the ever-growing industrial life would be powerless to 
make the city really great. 

The Chamber of Commerce likes to use still another 
name — ' ' the Most Accessible City. ' ' To prove that this 
name also is properly bestowed, there is displayed 
prominently in the literature of the Chamber a map of 
the United States, with lines radiating to all cities from 
Memphis as a center. That map has a strangely fa- 
miliar look to those who are accustomed to the booklets 
issued by at least a dozen other cities in the South; 
each of these makes a different city the center of a circle 
that shows it to be the most accessible city to its terri- 
tory ! And why not? Shall not a man's home city be 
the center of the universe? 

Above Memphis the stream pushes its way between 
banks that are now bluffs, now low-lying alluvial land 
that slopes gently upward to the uplands of Western 
Tennessee, around bends where the river folds in on 
itself in astonishing fashion, up to the point where 
Arkansas on the west gives place to Missouri, and then 
past lands in both Missouri and Tennessee that still 
show grim reminders of the great earthquake of 1811. 
The Eeelf oot Lake district in Northwest Tennesse was 
formed during that period, when the New Orleans, 
first steamer on these waters, moored to an island 

202 




COURT HOUSE, MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE 




CREST ROAD ALONG MISSIONARY RIDGE, CHATTANOOGA, TENNESSEE 
Illinois Monument in foreground 



THROUGH TENNESSEE BY RIVER 

for the night, was turned adrift by the disappearance 
of the anchorage. 

Even to-day islands have a fashion of disappearing 
as the mighty river changes its channel overnight, de- 
ciding perhaps to wander a few miles into what was the 
interior of the state. 

By this time Tennessee has been left behind, and 
Kentucky spreads out on the right. But those who wish 
to see more of the state of Andrew Jackson need only 
retain their composure until the steamer passes Cairo, 
ascends the Ohio to Paducah, and then turns into the 
inviting Tennessee River. As a matter of fact, though, 
no Memphis steamer is apt to include the Tennessee 
River in its wanderings; a change must be made at 
Paducah for the boat that comes down from St. Louis 
with its passengers who have responded to the lure 
of a trip on the river at an absurdly low price. Time 
was when the figure was only ten dollars for a week's 
journey from St. Louis to Waterloo, Alabama, and 
return. But that time has passed, probably never 
to return. 

But the trip is well worth the advanced rates, for 
there is no trip like this on any of the tributaries of the 
Ohio or the Mississippi. First across the western end 
of Kentucky, then from north to south directly across 
Tennessee, sometimes through low, swampy land, again 
by bluffs that rise abruptly from the water. Popula- 
tion is sparse, though the leisurely traveler feels no 
lack of interest as the boat coughs its way up to land- 
ings where there is a straggling town to be served or 
merely a warehouse falling into decay. Once the pause 
may be to permit the roustabouts to go up the hill after 
a dozen razor-back shoats, which they bring aboard 

203 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

with a triumphant grin, two men to a protesting porker, 
each of them having hold of two legs. The smiles be- 
come broader still if the load to be brought aboard is a 
few hundred sacks of *' goobers," which will leave on 
the lower deck enough flotsam to permit the roustabouts 
to munch to their hearts ' content. 

The happy-go-lucky roustabout frequently tried be- 
yond endurance the patience of the mate. Once the 
steamer tied up at a bluff where a lot of piling was to 
be taken on board. The bluff sloped rapidly away from 
the summit, and the logs had to be pushed up the slope 
before they could be rolled on the deck. A dozen logs 
had been sent triumphantly on their way, when one 
with a great knot that prevented easy rolling delayed 
the game. Long and earnestly the negroes toiled with 
this log. They had succeeded in approaching within 
a foot of the top of the slope when the bell rang for 
the roustabouts ' supper ; straightway the three negroes 
dropped their peaveys and allowed the log to roll down 
the hill. ''What did you do that fori" the mate asked, 
too much surprised even to swear. "It was time for 
supper, boss," was the reply that restored to him the 
power of speech that was more explosive than elegant. 

The river roustabout is a study — especially when, 
on the last day of the voyage, he is given his week's 
earnings. At once the lower deck takes on new life. 
Shouting, gesticulating negroes proceed to gamble 
away in a few moments the dollars they have earned 
through many days. One by one they become silent 
and slink away to an out-of-the-way comer where they 
will mope until some little incident restores their 
spirits ; then they are as gay as ever. 

But not all the roustabouts are gamblers. A pas- 

204 



THROUGH TENNESSEE BY RIVER 

senger noted a negro who held aloof from the gambling 
melee and asked him the reason. ' * I 'se got a home, and 
a wife and a boy," he replied. "Why, boss, when I gits 
dar to-night, that boy '11 be waitin' for me. He's a 
lookin' for a pair o' shoes, but he sort o' looks for his 
ole man, too. There'll be some holiday 'bout that joint 
in the momin', I'm tellin' yo'. I'll be some sleepy, but 
there won 't be no sleep for me till the kid gets his fill 
o' maulin' me. 'Bout Satu'day I'll be on the move 
once mo'; there'll be somethin' more needed at home. 
No, sah, I ain't got no use for these niggahs' 
triflin' ways!" 

Way passengers also add to the day's humor. They 
mingle with the through passengers, and have no hesi- 
tation in joining in the conversation. One tourist from 
the city, wh,o had been reading a novel, noted the shak- 
ing head of a bearded man who had been talking to 
others since his arrival on board fifteen miles before. 
At length the man drew his chair alongside the novel 
reader. "Mister, they tell me yo' are a preacher. Yo' 
say it 's true ? Well, Mister, what be yo ' doin ' with that 
unholy book in yo' hand? Don't you know a nov-ell is 
one of the traps of Satan!" 

There is not much time for novels when the boat 
snubs into the mud bank at Pittsburg Landing, and the 
captain announces that those who want to see Shiloh 
battle-field have half an hour to make the short trip up 
the bank and along the woods road to the scene of one of 
the most hotly contested battles of the Civil War. Here 
is now a National Military Park and Cemetery, in the 
midst of a forest almost untouched. The half hour 
gives opportunity only for a fleeting glimpse of the 
forest park with its hundreds of monuments and mark- 

205 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

ers and its miles of well-built roads that lead to the 
Hornet's Nest, the Bloody Pond, the Peach Orchard, 
and other spots made famous on that awful day in 1862 
when the forces of Grant opposed those of Albert Sid- 
ney Johnston until that leader was killed, and his suc- 
cessor. General Beauregard, decided to withdraw from 
the field. 

Not far from Pittsburg Landing the Teimessee line 
is crossed, and the boat passes to that long, graceful 
sweep of the river through the entire northern part 
of Alabama, where the blue-grass lands of the Ten- 
nessee Valley yield so generously. 

Soon the boat comes to famous Muscle Shoals, long 
considered a barrier to steamboat navigation above and 
below. But falls and rapids have been conquered, 
though not completely, by canals and locks, and much 
of the power so prodigally provided has been har- 
nessed. The latest industry is the nitrate plant, where 
provision is made for farmers who want to be indepen- 
dent of foreign products. 

The story of the conquest is inspiring. The first 
attempt was made after the gift made by Congress in 
1831 to the State of Alabama of 400,000 acres of public 
lands which were to be sold and much of the proceeds 
devoted to the canals at and near Muscle Shoals. 

The first Muscle Shoals canal was a marvel in that 
day. Each of the seventeen locks was 120 feet long 
by 32 feet wide. The total lift of these locks was 85 
feet. Yet comparatively few vessels passed through 
the canal because of the shoals above it, where no pro- 
vision had been made for canals. After 1837 it was 
no longer used. A local historian say that * ' the wooden 
gates with which the locks were equipped soon decayed, 

206 



THROUGH TENNESSEE BY RIVER 

rain and flood played havoc with the embankments, and 
the channel filled with mud, supplying a flourishing 
growth of willows and Cottonwood. ' ' 

For years many of those who lived in the beautiful 
country tributary to the Shoals urged upon Congress 
the necessity of making the river passable at this point, 
but until 1871 the pleas fell on deaf ears. Then ap- 
propriation was made for a series of new waterways. 
Some of these have been constructed, but they are en- 
tirely inadequate to the demands of the river. Only a 
small percentage of the traffic above and below the 
canals is able to make use of them. The passage is 
slow but most interesting to one who can take time 
to enjoy it. A light-draft steamer is able to pass the 
twenty-four-mile stretch at the Shoals in a little less 
than twelve hours — that is, if the water is high ! Some 
day there will be more adequate provision for the traffic 
that clamors loudly for accommodation. 

The region of the Shoals is rapidly becoming one of 
the busiest manufacturing centers in the country by 
reason of the harnessing of the immense water power 
of the river. Three dams in all are in the plan, and 
two of them will, ere long, be numbered among the 
world 's greatest power dams. One of them is 104 feet 
long and 4500 feet wide. Together with the power- 
house, it contains nearly four times as much concrete 
as the Roosevelt dam on Salt River in Arizona. The 
third dam is to be nearly two thousand feet longer than 
its great neighbor. 

By means of these dams and their power-houses 
energy is provided for great manufacturing establish- 
ments, including two nitrate plants, planned by the 
Government that America may be relieved of the neces- 

207 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

sity of depending for nitrate on foreign sources, 
whether for gunpowder or for fertilizer. 

The day is coming when here on the Tennessee in 
Northwest Alabama will be the Niagara of the South. 
At Muscle Shoals power can be developed much more 
cheaply than at Niagara, and the possibilities are said 
to be greater. 

The miles of river from Muscle Shoals to Chatta- 
nooga have been famous since the days of the pioneers. 
The Shoals are the beginning of navigation difficulties 
that extended most of the way. At one place there was 
what was called "The Suck," where, as Indian tradi- 
tions relate, a war party of Uchees, bound for the mouth 
of the Ohio to fight the Shawnees, were engulfed. Then 
come whirlpools innumerable, until the mountains 
about Chattanooga appear. An early traveler told 
with amazement of his experience from the time the 
river entered Alabama from Eastern Tennessee : 

*'At the Great Look Out of Chattanooga Mountain 
commences a series of rapids, where, in its tortuous 
windings along the base of several mountain ranges, 
the Tennessee River contracts into a narrow channel, 
hemmed in by the projecting cliff and towering preci- 
pices of solid stone, dashes, with tremendous violence 
from shore to shore, creating, in its rapid descent, a 
succession of cataracts and vortices." 

This difficult piece of river was made more terrible 
to the pioneers who floated down stream from the North 
Carolina rivers by the operations of a band of out- 
laws, renegade Indians and desperate white men, who 
were wont to attack the boats and carry off booty and 
prisoners to their refuge in Nicajac Cave, in Cumber- 
land Mountain, about thirty-six miles below Chatta- 

208 



THROUGH TENNESSEE BY RIVER 

nooga, which opens from the river. In the four or five 
miles of passage there was ample room for hiding. 

For five years, from 1774 to 1779, the operations of 
these ''Barbary Pirates of the West" continued, until 
troops from North Carolina and Virginia surprised the 
outlaws and broke up the band. 

They were still active, however, in March, 1779, 
when Colonel John Donelson conducted a party through 
this dangerous bit of river, in the course of what has 
been called one of the most remarkable achievements in 
the settlement of the West. The start was made from 
Fort Patrick Henry in Virginia. After reaching the 
Holston, he went down the stream, then down the Ten- 
nessee. On March 8, 1779, the company was pursued 
by Indians, who rode on the bank, until Cumberland 
Mountain interfered with the progress of the savages. 
There, in the narrowest part of the stream, called the 
** boiling pot," one canoe overturned. Others stopped 
to help the unfortunate navigator. Just then the out- 
laws appeared on the opposite bank, and began to fire 
on them from above. All managed to escape, except 
the company of Jonathan Jenings, whose boat ran on 
a rock. Fortunately, some in the boat escaped, but 
others were captured and tortured by the Indians. 

The heroic leader took his httle flotilla down the 
river all the way to the Ohio, which was in flood. Prog- 
ress upstream was so difficult that some decided to 
float down to Natchez. But the leader kept on his way, 
in accordance with his promise to James Robertson, 
who had gone overland. At last he managed to reach 
the mouth of the Cumberland, and then ascended that 
river which enters the Ohio only fifteen miles from the 
mouth of the Tennessee and crosses Kentucky in a 

14 209 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

course that is strikingly parallel to that of the larger 
stream, but turns to the eastward soon after the line 
is crossed into Tennessee, making a sweep back into 
Kentucky that is again much similar to the course of 
the Tennessee through North Alabama. 

Five weeks after reaching the Ohio, Donelson was at 
the Great Salt Lick, where he met Eobertson, on the site 
of Nashville. He had traveled more than eight hun- 
dred miles by water to keep his appointment with 
Robertson, who had led two hundred pioneers over 
Boone's Wilderness Road to the Cumberland Valley. 

Robertson decided to lay out Nashville — or Nash- 
borough, as it was called at first — at the point where the 
French built Fort Assumption and where Indian trails 
centered. The flats by the river seemed an ideal loca- 
tion. Evidently the founder had an eye also to the 
heights that look down on the surrounding country, 
where attractive homes have been built. 

Nashville 's ancestor, Nashborough, was called ' ' the 
advance agent of western civilization, ' ' for it was more 
than six hundred miles from the nearest established 
government. Hostile Indians were all about, but Rob- 
ertson declared that * ' the rich and beautiful lands were 
not designed to be given up to savages and wild beasts. 
The God of Creation and Providence has nobler pur- 
poses in view." One needs only to clunb to the cupola 
of the State House on its proud eminence not far from 
the heart of ''the Athens of the South" and look on the 
pleasing buildings, most prominent among them being 
the Parthenon, which is true to its Grecian name, then 
on the winding Cumberland, then on the hills and for- 
ests and valleys round about, to appreciate something 
of his feeling. 

210 



THROUGH TENNESSEE BY RIVER 

The city did not become the capital of the state until 
1843, when the changing center of population called for 
the removal of the government from the eastern part 
of the state. 

Gossipy letters written in 1847 said that "Nashville 
sounds louder at a distance than when it draws near. ' ' 
The explanation followed ; 

"At the distance of a mile from the town you see 
a board with a hand painted on it as large as life and 
the forefinger pointing with the following inscription, 
'Look and see the town ! ' Upon looking down the road 
you see the town, sure enough. It has a beautiful ap- 
pearance when seen from this point. As you approach 
it, you are so much engrossed by its lofty looks, from 
which it is difficult to avert your eyes, that you would 
be apt to plunge into the narrow Cumberland, which 
flows between you and the town. ' ' 

This visitor of the early days noted that "the citi- 
zens of Nashville in their dress and manners exhibit 
much taste and opulence. " To-day visitors remark the 
same thing, whether they confine their observation to 
the business streets or go to the residence section and 
the suburbs. 

No one wants to lose sight of the fact that Nashville 
is the city of Andrew Jackson as well as of James K. 
Polk, and that not far away is The Hermitage, the 
shrine sacred to the memory of the Apostle of Sim- 
plicity, who began to practice law in the town of James 
Eobertson, in 1788, when the government of North 
Carolina still spread its protecting arms over the valley 
of the Cumberland. 

The Hermitage was long in the possession of Ten- 
nessee,but in 1889 the property was conveyed to a Board 

211 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

of Trustees, and possession was given to the Ladies' 
Hermitage Association. Every year tens of thousands 
of pilgrims are the guests at what Theodore Roose- 
velt called ' ' the home of one of the three or four great- 
est presidents the nation has ever had. ' ' 

Every room in the mansion has its appeal to the 
patriot, but the message that comes with the greatest 
force to those who delight in the Southern reverence 
for women is received when the time comes to read the 
inscription written by General Jackson for the wife who 
was so bitterly attacked during the political campaign 
of 1828: 

*'Her face was fair, her person pleasing, her temper 
amiable, her heart kind. She delighted in relieving the 
wants of her fellow-creatures and cultivated that divine 
pleasure by the most liberal and unpretending methods ; 
to the poor she was a benefactor; to the rich an ex- 
ample ; to the wretched a comforter ; to the prosperous 
an ornament; her piety went hand in hand with her 
benevolence, and she thanked her Creator for being 
permitted to do good. A being so gentle and so virtu- 
ous slander might wound, but could not dishonor. Even 
Death, who has borne her from the arms of her hus- 
band, could but transport her to the bosom of her God. ' ' 

Interest in the inscription is not lessened by the 
knowledge that Mrs. Jackson was Rachel Donelson, 
who steered one of the boats during the epic voyage of 
the Donelson party from Virginia to the Cumberland 
in 1779. 

From Nashville and the Cumberland southeast to 
Chattanooga on the Tennessee is a short trip, but it 
leads through some of the most varied scenery of a 
state that is famous for its attractiveness. The fertile 

212 



THROUGH TENNESSEE BY RIVER 

valley lands of this ''Dimple of Tennessee" section 
gradually give way to mountains that rise as high as 
two thousand feet. Along the route are picturesque 
towns, like Murf reesboro, for a time the capital of Ten- 
nessee, and McMinnville, near Caney Fork River, the 
county seat of one of the two circular counties of the 
state, formed with unusual boundaries in an attempt to 
circumvent provisions of the Constitution for the or- 
ganization of new counties. 

Then there is TuUahoma, attractive in name and 
still more attractive in its surroundings — ^mountain 
streams where fishermen play with the speckled 
beauties, medicinal springs where health-seekers 
throng, and Eutledge Falls, where the waters form in 
a succession of cascades framed amid the trees of a 
luxuriant forest. Near by, Monteagle lures the lover 
of highland beauty by its location 2200 feet up on Cum- 
berland Mountain, or by the promise of a tour to Won- 
der Cave, the most attractive of the scores of limestone 
caverns in the state, with its several miles of passages, 
widening out at times into halls where stalactites and 
stalagmites of all colors combine to urge exploration, 
even though it is sometimes necessary to wade in the 
creek that flows along the cavern and out of the portal. 
The Indians must have roamed these passages and 
waded the creek, for the cave was on the old Nicajac 
Trail, from northern Alabama to middle Tennessee. 
Not far to the north was a famed city of refuge, where 
the manslayer was safe from the avenger so long as 
he remained within its shelter, even though the slayer 
was a white man and the victim an Indian. 

Sewanee vies with Monteagle in its scenery. This 
home of the University of the South is famous for rare 

213 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

outlooks and for mountain climbs that richly reward 
those who like to go where the clouds come down to 
earth and the eagles seem to soar almost within reach. 

One of these rambles leads to Lost Cove, with its 
graceful natural bridge of sandstone, one hundred and 
thirty feet long from bluff to bluif . 

The distance is not great from Sewanee down to the 
Tennessee. But what forest-covered mountain slopes 
must be covered or evaded before the regal curves of 
the river come in sight ! And what a never-to-be-for- 
gotten ride the stream affords from the time it 
enters the state until Chattanooga appears, seated 
in gloiy at the foot of Lookout Mountain, the sentinel 
of the Appalachians. 

Chattanooga seems to have more than its fair share 
of attractions. Mountains hem it in, Chickamauga Bat- 
tlefield is near by in Georgia, Missionary Eidge over- 
looks the city, while the Government road along the 
crest makes easy the study of a panorama that every- 
one should see once, that few can see once without tiy- 
ing to see it again and yet again. 

Then there is Lookout Mountain, fifteen hundred 
feet above the river, to which access is easy, from which, 
on a clear day, bits of seven states are visible. But 
however frequently the attempt is made to fix the eye 
on the far spaces, it persists in dropping to the stately 
curves of the Tennessee, the famous Moccasin Bend, 
and then to the city of Chattanooga, threaded by a river 
on whose rocky bluffs are homes whose contented in- 
mates rejoice in the prosperity and the unexampled lo- 
cation of their favored city. 

It is difficult to credit the statement that Chatta- 
nooga, instead of being one of the most delightful cities 

214 



THROUGH TENNESSEE BY RIVER 

in the land, might have been only an overgrown country 
town. But this is what the residents of Guntersville, 
a few miles away in Alabama, at the point where the 
Tennessee bends to the southeast, once tried to bring 
about — not because they had any ill-will to Chatta- 
nooga, but because they wished their own town well. 
About the middle of the last century a member of the 
Alabama legislature, himself a resident of Gunters- 
ville, sought a charter for a railroad to connect the 
Tennessee and the Coosa Rivers, in the hope that it 
might become part of a great through railroad. The 
plan seemed to be working out a few years later when 
the road from Memphis by way of Atlanta to Charles- 
ton was planned. The Guntersville citizen almost suc- 
ceeded in having it routed from Decatur to Guntersville, 
and then on to Atlanta. If he had succeeded, Chat- 
tanooga would have been left far to one side. But Chat- 
tanooga interests became busy, and the contest was 
sharp. Finally the governors of Tennessee, Missis- 
sippi, Alabama, Georgia and South Carolina each 
appointed three men, fifteen in all, who should decide 
the question. The vote in committee was a tie^ — and 
the chairman cast his vote for the Chattanooga route, 
thus making it the great railroad center of the middle 
South — or so the story is told by John Allen Wyeth, 
son of the Guntersville man who failed in his dream 
of making his home town great. 

Chattanooga is the Gate City to that mountain 
region between the Tennessee River and the Unaka 
Mountains, on the border of North Carolina, which has 
been called the Switzerland of America. In ascending 
the mountain-girt river and its antecedent, the Clinch 
(or, as the Indians called it, the Pelissippi), the adven- 

215 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

turer moves in a southeasterly direction toward the 
Virginia line. At first he has on his left the rugged 
Walden's Ridge that long proved an almost insuper- 
able barrier to commerce with the central part of the 
state, and on the right the region of the Great Indian 
War Path. 

On the way to Knoxville there is a county seat whose 
sigh for greatness that might have been sounds like 
that of Guntersville. Nearly half a century ago a 
resident proudly called attention to the fact that its 
location at the junction of the Tennessee and a tribu- 
tary river was more advantageous than that of any 
other town in the United States. "If half the money 
that has been spent on the Allegheny, the Ohio and the 
Monongahela was expended on the Tennessee and its 
tributaries . . . such localities as Kingston would 
attract the attention they deserve," this man stated 
with assurance. At the same time he printed a map 
to show that Kingston was the center. Thus he was 
the ancestor of all the makers of similar maps of cities 
that have become more or less famous. 

Once Kingston was the capital of Tennessee, but the 
glory was short-lived. As capital it was a successor 
of Knoxville, which had that honor during its early 
history, first in 1791, when Governor Blount made it 
the seat of government of the Territory of the United 
States south of the Ohio River. 

In early days emigration was attracted to Knox- 
ville by the beauty of its surroundings, and visitors 
have not yet ceased to marvel at its command of the 
East Tennessee Valley, near the junction of the Ten- 
nessee and the French Broad. There are so many 
heights from which the eye can look away over water 
216 



THROUGH TENNESSEE BY RIVER 

and valleys to cloud-embracing mountains that it is not 
easy to choose among them. But perhaps the gem 
among them all is the Country Club summit, with its 
view of the Tennessee, making a circuit, almost com- 
plete, and far beyond the wooded slopes and peaks of 
the Unakas. Once the river traffic was important, and 
it is still worth reckoning. But for the tourist the charm 
of the river is not in its ability to bear the products 
of the valley, but in the access it gives to regions be- 
yond the bustle of the city whose Northern enterprise 
and Southern hospitality make a combination that has 
given to it a position of prominence not only in Ten- 
nessee but in the entire South. 

Knoxville was not yet begun when, in the northeast 
section of the state, the pioneers tried a most interest- 
ing experiment in statecraft. Leaders among the set- 
tlers thought that the cession to Congress of the lands 
west of the Unakas was not a solution to their prob- 
lem of remoteness from the seat of government in North 
Carolina. So they proceeded to organize the state of 
Franklin (or Frankland, the home of free men, as some 
wanted to call it, but the name Franklin was later chosen 
officially) . Offices were provided for, and a constitution 
was proposed by Sam Houston; this was voted down 
in favor of a revision of the North Carolina constitu- 
tion. Provision was made that taxes should be paid in 
flax, linen, tow linen, linsey, beaver skin, cased otter 
skin, woolen cloth, bacon, tallow, beeswax, whisky, 
apple toddy, sugar, deer skin and tobacco. The salaries 
of state officers were to be paid in such of these articles 
as were collected. 

The first court-house was built at Greeneville, north- 
east of Knoxville. The location was at the lower cor- 

217 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

ner of the present court-house lot. The building was 
of unhewn logs, without windows and with only an 
unguarded opening for a door. In this structure the 
constitution was adopted and the name of the state 
was chosen officially. Perhaps the delegates were too 
busy to heed the fact that fish were plentiful in the 
streams near at hand, but to-day visitors are not so 
indifferent to surroundings that are ideal for the hun- 
ter or for the fisherman. And if a man's chief interest is 
scenery, what an invitation is given by the Nolichucky 
Valley, below the ridge on which the town is built, and 
the Great Smoky Mountains on one side and the Clinch 
Mountains on the other ! 

The near-by county-seat town, Jonesboro, is also 
famous for its connection with the infant state. Here, 
in the oldest towni of Tennessee, founded in 1779, the 
first session of the legislature was held. The mountain 
men who composed it felt at home here, for it is but 
a few miles to the highest sunmiits of the Unakas, 
among them Great Bald, which boasts 5500 feet. 

Between Jonesboro and Knoxville is a third town 
that was prominent in the days of Franklin — Dan- 
dridge, the only town in the countiy named for Mrs. 
George Washington — Mrs. Martha Dandridge Wash- 
ington. Both Sam Houston and Daniel Boone were at 
home in Dandridge in the heroic days of the moun- 
tain men. 

For four years the state of Franklin held its own, 
in spite of the appeals and the threats of the Governor 
of North Carolina, the setting up of a rival govern- 
ment in its own territory and the defection of many of 
its supporters. At length, in 1788, those who still re- 
mained faithful to Franklin decided that the time had 

218 



THROUGH TENNESSEE BY RIVER 

come to yield to North Carolina, it being understood 
that a new government would be set up before long. 

It is not easy to exhaust the interest of this comer 
of Tennessee where the mountain rivers have worn 
their way through the opposing mountains. Bristol, 
part of it over the line in Virginia, has in its immediate 
vicinity one hundred miles of splendid roads for the 
automobile, many of them on ridges two thousand feet 
high. Holston Mountain and, farther south. Roan 
Mountain, demand the inspection of the lover of the 
heights, even if the roads are not good except for the 
tramper. "Watauga speaks eloquently of another 
famous attempt at independent statecraft that bore rich 
fruit when Tennessee was organized. 

And then there is Sycamore Shoals on the Watauga 
River, where a monument erected by the Daughters of 
the American Revolution tells of the undying fame of 
sturdy mountaineers, adherents of the cause of the 
Colonies. When Major Ferguson of the British Army 
sent them word to desist from their opposition they 
decided to give their answer in person ; they would cross 
the mountains, kill Ferguson, and put his army to 
flight. At Sycamore Shoals they assembled, on Sep- 
tember 25, 1780; then they made their difficult way 
across the Unakas, traveling so swiftly that the forces 
of the enemy were surprised at Kings Mountain, North 
Carolina. In the battle that followed the mountain 
men were victorious. The day of victory, October 7, 
1780, is noted with red letters in the annals of the 
Revolution, for it was ''the day that made Yorktown 
a near possibility." 

Kings Mountain is in Gaston County, North Caro- 
lina, and in York County, South Carolina. The monu- 

219 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

ment dedicated in 1909 is just over the line in 
South Carolina. 

Once, in his young manhood, John Muir stood on a 
summit near the battlefield. He had climbed there in 
response to the invitation of a mountaineer, who said 
to him, **I will take you to the highest ridge in the 
country where you can see both ways; you will have 
a view of all the world on one side of the mountain and 
all creation on the other/* 

The heart throbs with something more than rare- 
fied air as the pilgrim follows in the steps of the nature- 
lover. For who can stand on one of these summits and 
look away to the broad lands to the north, to the south, 
to the east, to the west, without rejoicing that he is a 
citizen of America, the land won by pioneers whose 
privations and triumphs have opened the way for that 
large service of humanity to which the call has come so 
insistently during these later years ! 



CHAPTER XXV 
GLIMPSES OF FERTILE MISSISSIPPI 

MISSISSIPPI shares with Alabama some of 
the best of the coast of the Gulf of Mexico. 
In fact, when ''the Gulf Coast" is spoken of 
the thoughts turn naturally to the limited portion of 
coast line that belongs to the two states by extension 
between crowding Louisiana on the west and jealous 
Florida on the east. Florida and Louisiana and Texas 
are partners in the glorious sweep of the Gulf 's shore 
line, and these states are justified in talking in glowing 
terms of what their share of the coast means to them. 
But many people feel that the states between Florida 
and Louisiana have the best of the good-natured argu- 
ment among the partners as to whose possession is 
finest, and that to Mississippi must be given the pakn 
because of having the compact segment where there is 
supreme delight for those who listen to the call of the 
sea in winter. Louisiana long ago succeeded in secur- 
ing title to millions of acres of oyster beds close in 
shore which Mississippi claimed, but so long as that 
state retains the more than one hundred miles from the 
Alabama line to Pearl River she can look with equanim- 
ity on her neighbor's possession of the oyster beds. 

One of the features that make residence along Mis- 
sissippi's water boundary so delightful is the series of 
long, narrow islands that separate Mississippi Sound 
from the open Gulf. Strung along the Sound are 
a dozen resorts where Northerners like to go year 

221 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

after year, and where residents of both Louisiana 
and Mississippi spend vacation days. Pascagoula, 
on Pascagoula Sound, is more of a commercial 
town than a resort, but fishermen have learned its 
attraction. Biloxi, also called by George W. Cable 
the mother of Louisiana and the birthplace of New 
Orleans, has surprises in store for those who seek 
their pleasure on shore. Gulfport talks of its tributary' 
green and speckled trout, sheepshead, redfish, croakers, 
Spanish mackerel and even tarpon, and boasts of its 
reputation among the seekers after health and the joys 
of respite from business or the social life of the cities. 
Pass Christian is old enough to talk of a place in the 
affections of men and women of long ago and young 
enough to draw multitudes of those to whom ' ' the Gulf 
Coast" means, in general, Mississippi and, specifically, 
Pass Christian. Those who thus fall heir to the cozy 
resorts are not at a loss to know what to do with them- 
selves. They sail on the Sound, they fish in the depths, 
they go out to Breton Island Bird Keservation, where 
the laughing gulls and the royal terns seem to know 
that they are protected by the strong hand of the Gov- 
ernment. Perhaps they stand entranced on the shore, 
looking out on its calm, blue expanse to the open waters 
beyond the islands ; they glide in their cars along the 
famous shell roads that border the shore, connecting 
some of the resorts; they dream of the heroic days 
when Spain and France played battledore and shuttle- 
cock with the lands that border the Gulf and the waters 
where the vessel of many an adventurer picked its way 
between the off-shore islands. 

On the west as on the south Mississippi borders on 
the water. But on the west is the lordly Mississippi 

222 




1 



r- 



uA 





■'■» • ■'*' 



-^."hjH-.' 









(;athering srcAK cank ix Mississippi 




GOING TO MILL 



GLIMPSES OF FERTILE MISSISSIPPI 

with its sinuous curves that make the boundary line 
tmce as long as that on the east. On or close to the 
Father of Waters are three historic towns that vie with 
any in the Mississippi Valley in interest and person- 
ality. To the traveler who comes there from the Gulf 
Natchez comes first, whether the city is approached by. 
highway, by railroad or by river. Those who go up the 
river to-day fare far better than the emigrants of long 
ago who floated downstream from Pittsburg, Louisville 
and Cairo, or ascended it after solving the mysteries 
of the Delta. 

When the pioneers came to Natchez they saw 
what, in 1790, William Bartram said was as beautiful 
as any country to be found, with its great forests of 
live-oaks and beach, thickly studded with magnificent 
blooming trees and shrubs, such as the magnolia, bay, 
japonica, cape jessamine. Everywhere he found the 
long- and short-leaf pine, white oak, red oak, live-oak, 
pecan, hickory and poplar, most of them enveloped in 
streamers of long grey moss. Some of these trees are 
now extinct, except as they are cultivated, but the 
country is still beautiful. And what wide-spreading 
views are presented from the perpendicular bluffs of 
the city, rising more than two hundred and fifty feet ! 
Below is the river sweeping by in all its pride, in the 
distance are the flat green fields of Louisiana, while on 
the Mississippi side the landscape is more varied, espe- 
cially in the valley of St. Catherine's Creek and among 
the Devil's Punch Bowls to the north of the city, great 
cavities both weird and wild. Not far away is Mam- 
moth Bayou, where remarkable relics of the preliistoric 
mammoth have been found, while reminders of the 
people who one day enjoyed the beauty of these fertile 

223 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

lands are everywhere in the mounds. Of these Emer- 
ald Mound is most important. 

The names of both D 'Iberville and De Bienville 
are linked with the story of Natchez. In 1716 De Bien- 
ville built Fort Kosalie within the present limits of the 
city, but when this was captured by the English in 1763 
it was renamed Fort Panmure. Sixteen years later 
Spain captured the fort. In 1783 she promised by 
treaty to give it up, but she retained possession until 
1798. The town, called ''the cradle of Mississippi," 
was begun while Spain thus boldly held on. The Cathe- 
dral was built in what is now the business center. 

Natchez became the first territorial capital and in- 
creased in importance until it became the commercial 
capital of the state. After the panic of 1837 it yielded 
much of its importance, but it can never yield the charm 
of the old days when it was a favorite dwelling-place 
of wealthy planters and became a social city of note. 

In 1802 the territorial capital was moved to Wash- 
ington, six miles from Natchez, of which little now 
remains. In 1807 when Aaron Burr, after his arrest 
about twenty miles farther north, was admitted to bail 
here, the town was in its glory. While out on bail he 
met a young girl whom history knows as Madeline, 
described as ''a miracle of beauty." He visited her 
frequently at her home near Washington, and vainly 
tried to persuade her to flee with him when he forfeited 
his bail. She refused to go, but promised to wait for 
him. For many years she was faithful to the exile, 
until, from England, he wrote to release her from 
her promise. 

Half way between Natchez and Vicksburg, and ten 
miles from the Mississippi, Port Gibson is situated on 

224 



GLIMPSES OF FERTILE MISSISSIPPI 

the plateau between Bayou Pierre and the hills on the 
south. The first settler in the neighbourhood was Cap- 
tain Thaddeus Lyman, the Connecticut soldier who re- 
ceived from England a grant of twenty thousand acres 
on Bayou Pierre. With his followers he ascended the 
river from New Orleans, traveling on barges and in 
rowboats. To this day the lands he owned are known as 
the Lyman Mandamus, reminder this of the fact that 
his was one of the two English grants in Missis- 
sippi. Thus the first plantation of the neighborhood 
came from the English crown, but Port Gibson itself 
owes its beginning to Spain. In 1788 Gibson, the first 
settler, received a grant from that country; but the 
town was not laid out until 1803. It soon became a 
thriving town. Long before Vicksburg was founded 
it was of great commercial importance. Even yet it 
is to be reckoned with both by the business man and 
the tourist. 

Thirty miles north of Port Gibson is Vicksburg, 
which, though it cannot lay claim to as great age as its 
neighbors, has the distinction of being built on an elbow 
of land across which, in the days of the Civil War, Gen- 
eral Grant wanted to cut a canal that his vessels might 
avoid the deadly fire of the batteries that protected both 
city and river. Then the citizens strenuously objected to 
the canal, but the day came when they devoted all their 
energies to canal building. This was in 1876, when the 
lawless Mississippi cut across the peninsula and left 
the city far from the water which was its life. Despair 
settled on Vicksburg, until somebody pointed out how 
easy it would be to direct by canal the waters of the 
Yazoo, which entered the Mississippi above the city, 
into the old bed of the river. This was done, and once 

15 225 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

more Vicksburg on its Walnut Hills looked down 
serenely on busy wharves and puffing steamboats. 

The canal that saved a city is only one of Vicks- 
burg 's claims to fame. Another is the great cemetery 
on the hills to the north, where sixteen thousand Fed- 
eral soldiers lie buried, within easy distance of the 
scene of struggle that had such vast influence on the 
fortunes of war. 

Vicksburg was less than forty years old at the time 
of the successful attempt at canal building, and she was 
not thirty years old when the canal that failed was 
begun. But long years before these attempts to con- 
quer nature primitive beginners had succeeded in push- 
ing through the wilderness and over the hills a road that 
made possible progress on land, as the Mississippi 
made easy the passage by water. This was the famous 
Natchez Trace, which ran from the Mississippi at 
Natchez, by Bayou Pierre, below Vicksburg, through 
the heart of Mississippi, crossing the border below 
luka, near the northeast comer of the territory, and 
passing beyond the Tennessee at Colbert's Ferry, be- 
low Muscle Shoals. The northern terminus of that five 
hundred and one miles of road was at Nashville, where 
connection was made from Lexington, Chillicothe, 
Zanesville and Pittsburg. 

One historian says of this road: ''Down it passed 
a steady stream of travelers, often men of wealth jour- 
neying to the South in search of land and other profit- 
able investment; up it passed traders, supercargoes 
and boatmen from New Orleans, who would take the 
long journey overland to their homes one tliousand 
miles away, through regions infested by outlaws, close 
to the site of thriving Jackson, since 1821 capital of 

226 



GLIMPSES OF FERTILE MISSISSIPPI 

the state, through the Indian lands so reluctantly- 
yielded by the Choctaws to the advancing settlers.'* 

One of the most famous of the early pilgrims on the 
Trace was Alexander Wilson, the Philadelphia school- 
master turned naturalist. In 1810, when not far from 
Nashville, he stopped with an innkeeper named Isaac 
Walton, who, after talking to him of his purpose to 
study the birds of the South, said: ''I cannot and will 
not charge you anything. Whenever you come this way, 
call and stay with me; you shall be welcome." 

From Nashville Wilson wrote to a friend in Phila- 
delphia: ''Nine hundred miles from you sits Wilson, 
the hunter of birds ' nests and sparrows, just preparing 
to enter on a wilderness of 780 miles — most of it in the 
territory of Indians — alone but in good spirits, and 
expecting to have every pocket crammed with skins of 
new and extraordinary birds before he reaches the city 
of New Orleans." 

The road Wilson took was one of the most famous 
roads of the South in early days. To-day it is only 
a memory. But there has grown around the territory 
it pierced a great state whose people reap the fruits 
of the toils of the pioneers, whose visitors feast on 
beautiful prospects, it may be with more leisure, but 
surely not with more appreciation than was shown by 
those hardy men of other days. 



CHAPTER XXVI 
TRIANGULATING LOUISIANA 

EGYPT has been called the Gift of the Nile, be- 
cause of the annual overflow of the river that 
renews the fertility of the narrow valley. But 
the name "The Gift of the Mississippi" may even more 
appropriately be given to the richest section of Louisi- 
ana — from Baton Eouge east to the Mississippi 
Sound, southwest to the Vermilion Eiver and south 
to the Gulf. Since the day when the mouth of the Father 
of Waters was near the present site of Baton Rouge, 
eight thousand square miles of these Alluvial Delta 
Lands have been built up, two thousand feet deep, by the 
sediment from the stream carried down from the ter- 
ritory of thirty states. And the work is still going on. 
Every year a million tons of sediment are carried do^n 
to the Gulf, and the strange Delta — where the river 
reaches out to the sea with its tentacles that look on the 
map like the fingers of a giant hand — is pushed out into 
the Gulf one mile in sixteen years. This is the region 
of which Enos A. Mills, the student of nature who 
knows how to make scientific facts attractive to all, 
has said: 

''The Mississippi River Delta contains age-old 
wreckage; it is a continental contribution built by the 
Father of Waters. It is a mingling of mountain frag- 
ments and broken farms, the blended ruin and richness 
of ten thousand plains and peaks. In it, side by side, 

228 



TRIANGULATING LOUISIANA 

lie remnants of Pike's Peak, an Ohio hill, the heart of 
old Kentucky, a part of the Mammoth Cave, lava from 
old Yellowstone fires, glacial silt from Canadian moun- 
tains, dust from the Great Plains, sediments from rocks 
that were formed in ancient seas, and even the black 
meteoric dust of burnt-out worlds and stars. A delta 
may be a combination of all geological rock strata andof 
all life that has lived its little day and returned to dust, 
and may carry even the wreckage of other worlds than 
ours. A polished piece of granite in this delta may be 
as old, almost, as the earth. Erosion on Canadian 
mountains unearthed it. The southward sweep of the 
ice king seized it, carried it a thousand miles southward, 
grinding and reducing it, then depositing it in Ohio. 
Here a flood seized it, rushed it to a sandbar in the Mis- 
sissippi River, and it lingered. By slow stages it rolled 
its way down the Mississippi channel and at last came 
to rest within sound of the sea." 

Near the center of these Louisiana Alluvial Delta 
Lands, on a great bend of the Mississippi, New Orleans, 
the Crescent City, proudly looks out on the river that 
built her foundations ages before D 'Iberville 's decision 
in 1718 to make this the site of the metropolis of the 
French possessions in America. 

In the days of D 'Iberville the only sea approach to 
New Orleans was through one of the mouths of the Mis- 
sissippi 's Delta, but the enterprise of the city's com- 
mercial leaders and the skill of the Goethals 
Engineering Company, led by the man who was the 
chief dependence of General Goethals in building the 
Panama Canal, have provided a second route — from 
Mobile and Mississippi Sound, through Lake Pont- 
chartrain, and to the river by means of the twenty- 

229 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

million-dollar Industrial Canal, with its vast Inner Har- 
bor. This colossal achievement, the fulfilment of the 
dream of more than a century, has attracted compara- 
tively little attention, in spite of the almost unbeliev- 
able figures that are a part of the story of the waterway 
that enables New Orleans to save forty miles in reach- 
ing the Gulf, to bring iron and coal directly from Bir- 
mingham and its tributary territory, and to be one of 
the great ports on; the Intercoastal Canal from Boston 
to the Southwest. The fourteen-foot channel to the 
Gulf will eventually be made a thirty-five foot channel. 
The lock that makes possible the descent from Lake 
Pontchartrain to the level of New Orleans is six hun- 
dred feet long, inside measurement, and there are thirty 
feet of water on the sill. In preparation for the lock a 
cut sixty-five feet deep was made, and one hundred 
thousand cubic feet of earth were removed. The entire 
six miles of canal to the lake called for the excavation of 
ten million cubic yards, enough to fill a train one hun- 
dred miles long. Possibly figures like these mean less 
to the average reader than the statement that fourteen 
thousand piles were sunk through the quicksand to 
make the foundations of the lock, or that from the lock 
to the Mississippi the canal leads through a cypress 
swamp where the workmen had to clear away an aver- 
age of two hundred trees to the acre. The cypress 
stumps of the surface were a great difficulty, but noth- 
ing in comparison with the stumps and logs found at 
various levels below the surface. These are the remains 
of forests eighteen thousand to twenty thousand years 
old, according to the theory of local geologists. Early 
in the earth's history great forests were where New 
Orleans now lies. They sank beneath the sea; rivers 

230 



TRIANGULATING LOUISIANA 

with their silt again built up the land and new forests 
grew; they, too, sank, and the cycle was repeated. The 
ordinary type of dredge, even with the strength of one 
thousand horsepower behind it, was unable to pene- 
trate these obstacles, and special machinery was devel- 
oped by a New Orleans engineer to meet the difficulty. 

In 1766, when Captain Harry Gorden visited New 
Orleans, he spoke of ''the Difficulty of Approach" that 
railroads and the Industrial Canal have helped to make 
a thing of the past : 

''New Orleans is but a small Town, not many good 
Houses in it, but in general healthy and the Inhabitants 
well looked ; It 's principal Staple is the Trade for Furrs 
and skins from the Illinois ; their want of Negroes keep 
back the Indigo making : They have attempted Sugar, 
and there are now Five Plantations that produce it; 
but they do not make it turn out to great Account. 
There is only a Stockade round the Place with a large 
Banquet, their Dependence for the Defence is the Diffi- 
culty of Approach, that up the Eiver is tedious and 
easily opposed, particularly at the Detour d'Anglois, 
and there is only 12 Feet Water on the Bar. The Mili- 
tary Force at this Place is at present Small, not above 
eighty Spaniards remain of those brought with 
their Governor." 

Mrs. Annie Royall, famous traveler of the early 
nineteenth century, formed a much more favorable 
impression when her pilgrimage through the South led 
her to the metropolis of Louisiana. After noting that 
the city's name is pronounced by most of the people 
"Norlins," she declared, "From the very nature of its 
advantages the day is not distant when New Orleans 
will be the first city in the Union, if not in the world." 

231 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

Successors of Mrs. Eoyall may revise her judgment 
as to the future of the city, but they will not feel like 
questioning her enthusiasm so far as its charm is con- 
cerned. Everywhere they go they are confronted by 
reminders of the kaleidoscopic changes in the city's 
career, first under France, then under Spain, then under 
France once more until it became a possession of the 
United States in 1803. The transfer was made in the 
quaint old Cabildo, on Jackson Square, the former 
Place d 'Armes, where St. Louis Cathedral also tells of 
the days of old. 

Even the names of the streets speak eloquently of a 
past that is so different from that of any other city in 
America. Canal, Eampart and Esplanade Streets are 
on the site of the moat of which Captain Grorden wrote. 
Camp Street is named for the one-time Campo de 
Negros, or Camp of the Negroes. Poydras Street was 
named for one who owned land along that thorough- 
face. Tchoupitoulas Road, with its willow-grown bor- 
der, where landed flatboats and keelboats, predecessors 
of the steamboats, is to-day Tchoupitoulas Street. 

The names of these streets become familiar to those 
who visit the Crescent City at the time of its great 
festival week, Mardi Gras, so called in memory of the 
fact that on Mardi Gras, Shrove Tuesday, D 'Iberville 
took possession for France of the country at the mouth 
of the Mississippi. For more than seventy-five years 
the carnival has been held annually during a period 
of five days. The Ball of the Knights of Momus, the 
Ball of the Knights of Proteus, the parade of Eex, 
king of the carnival, and the ball of the Mystic Krew of 
Comus delight both citizens and visitors. 

But let no one think that the only time to see New 

232 




JACKSON SQUARE, NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA 
The central building is the Cathedral. On the left is the Cabildo. On the right is the 

Presbytere 




THREE OAk~ \!\',-!ij-,, ri{AI..MKTTI,, \[\\ ORLEANS 
Used for care of wounded in the Battle of New Orleans, 1815 



TRIANGULATING LOUISIANA 

Orleans is during the Mardi Gras festival. The best 
season is when the crowds are absent, when the wan- 
derer through the Vieux Carre, or old city, has leisure 
to pause at the delightful French market ; to turn into 
one of the oyster bays — where, if he is unwise, he may 
call for a dozen raw oysters, only to find that he can- 
not possibly dispose of more than four or five of the 
monster bivalves set before him ; or to take a seat in a 
French restaurant down some side street where the 
chef knows the secret of making the delectable oyster 
loaf, which is only imitated in other cities. 

Mournfully he will pass the site of the famous old 
French opera house — scene of the first appearance in 
the United States of Adelina Patti — destroyed by fire 
in 1919. He can study the iron balconies on the ancient 
French houses. If he is fortunate enough to spend a 
night in a mammoth four-poster bed in one of these bal- 
cony rooms, he can, in the morning, have the rare privi- 
lege of looking out from a pleasing point of vantage on 
the mixed throng in the street below, where soberly- 
dressed business men touch elbows with gayly garbed 
and voluminously turbaned negresses, or fashionable 
Creole women, descendants of French and Spanish an- 
cestors. And everywhere he will see the street gamins 
who have a keen scent for a stray two bits, not only on 
days that are fair but also when the rain descends in 
torrents and the gutters overflow until pedestrians are 
glad to avail themselves of the pine boxes placed before 
them as stepping-stones by these convenient urchins. 

Not far from the city's business center — ^whose mod- 
em high buildings are near-neighbors of structures that 
were modern when steamer traffic was in its glory, as 
well as of some of the survivors of the days of French 

283 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

ownership — are warehouses where the familiar bales 
from the field compresses are further compressed into 
startlingly small compass for export, and the docks 
where great ocean-going steamers discharge and re- 
ceive their cargoes. One can wander for hours on these 
docks, and can return with pleasure the very next day 
and gaze at will on the busy scene — the handling of the 
cotton, the unloading of bananas from the West Indies, 
the trundling of molasses casks that give out friendly 
streams for the gratification of the negro deckliands, 
the piling up of sacks of sugar bound for the refinery, 
which a convenient ganger samples with his auger until 
an amber-colored handful is within easy reach. 

Then comes the pilgrimage to St. Louis Cemetery, 
whose site was outside the old city walls. There moss- 
draped trees and vaults above ground — ''ovens," as 
they are called in New Orleans — seldom fail to make the 
tourist glad that the grounds are open to the public, even 
if the ''ovens" are closed to all but "members of the 
families" of those whose names, many of them French, 
are inscribed on the stones that close the last resting- 
places of thousands. Metaire Cemetery, more modem, 
is well worth a visit, but St. Louis should be seen first. 

One of the names that finds place in a New Orleans 
cemetery is that of Paul Tulane, descendant of a 
Huguenot, a bachelor whose love was all given to the 
city where he made his fortune. "When he died he pro- 
vided for the building and endowment of Tulane Uni- 
versity, that it might no longer be necessary for the 
citizens of New Orleans to send their sons far away 
for an education. 

Tulane University is opposite Audubon Park, one 
of the city's breathing places, named for the great 

234 



TRIANGULATING LOUISIANA 

bird-lover who spent long months in the city enduring 
hardship, while he made steady progress in the accom- 
plishment of his dream to put on paper the birds of 
America. A bronze statue in the park shows him 
holding a note-book in one hand, while in the other is a 
pencil with which he is about to set down his observa- 
tions of a bird he is intently watching. 

Audubon first reached New Orleans in January, 
1821, after an adventurous trip from Natchez, where he 
had paused long enough to paint portraits of a shoe- 
maker and his wife in payment for two pairs of boots, 
one for himself, the other for a penniless companion. 
The first part of the journey was made on a keelboat 
in tow of the steamer Columbus. From Bayou Sara 
the journey was continued in a rowboat, in which he was 
set adrift by the captain of the Columbus, who was in 
a hurry to reach New Orleans. 

The bird-artist landed penniless in the Crescent 
City. Next day he went to the French market and soon 
found his way to the stalls of the bird sellers. There 
his heart swelled as he saw ''mallard, teal, American 
widgeon, Canadian and snow geese, tell-tale goodwits, 
robins, bluebirds and red-wing blackbirds. '* 

He lived for a time on Ursuline Street, near the old 
Convent, and he took many long walks through the 
streets and far out in the surrounding country. But 
the longer he remained the less favorable became his 
judgment of the fair city. Five years later, after sev- 
eral visits, he wrote in his journal: ''New Orleans to 
a Man who does not trade in Dollars or any other Such 
Stuffs is a miserable Spot." 

To-day those who follow in the steps of Audubon 
will not be ready to agree with an opinion that must 

235 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

have been the result of his misfortunes. For every- 
where they turn they will find fresh pleasure. From 
Audubon Park, with its 280 acres of live-oak avenues, 
palm-grove drives and canoe streams, they can go 
across the city to City Park, only a little smaller, where 
more semi-tropical trees grow above the velvety lawns,. 
among these being the famous duelling oaks, just pistol- 
shot apart, favorite haunt of the followers of the Code 
Duello. And when reluctant consent is gained to leave 
the city itself they can go to Chalmette, down the river, 
scene of the Battle of New Orleans or to Lake Pont- 
chartrain, with its famous resort, Covington, across the 
water in St. Tammany Parish, which gives such ready 
access to the waterways Bogue Falaya, Tchefuncta 
River and Abita River. 

Within easy reach are other famous fishing and 
hunting resorts, reminders that New Orleans is in a 
region of which "William T. Homaday wrote in "Our 
Vanishing Wild Life"; ''There is one state in Amer- 
ica, and, so far as I know, only one, in which there 
is at this moment an old-time abundance of game-bird 
life. That is the state of Louisiana. The reason is not 
so very far to seek. For the birds that do migrate — 
quail, wild turkey and doves — the cover is yet abundant. 
For the migratory game birds of the Mississippi Val- 
ley Louisiana is a grand central depot, with terminal 
facilities that are unsurpassed. Her reedy shores, her 
vast marshes, her long coast line and abundance of food 
furnish what should not only be a haven but a heaven 
for ducks and geese. The great forests of Louisiana 
shelter deer, turkeys and fur-bearing animals galore; 
and rabbits and squirrels abound." 

It was to Louisiana that Theodore Roose/elt went 

236 



1 



TRIANGULATING LOUISIANA 

for a hunting holiday in October, 1907. His chosen 
grounds were far north of New Orleans in the Tensas 
River country. From there he wrote to his son Ted : 

'^ 'Bad old father' is coming back after a success- 
ful trip. It was a success in every way, including the 
bear hunt; but in the case of the bear hunt we only 
just made it successful and no more, for it was not 
until the twelfth day of steady hunting that I got my 
bear. Then I shot it in the most approved hunter's 
style, going up on it in a cane brake as it made a walk- 
ing bay before the dogs. I also killed a deer — more by 
luck than anything else, as it was a difficult shot." 

Louisiana abounds not only in game, but in musical 
and unusual names like ZwoUe, Vivian, Rodessa, 
Neame, Juanita, De Quincy, Florien, Bon Ami, Ana- 
coco, Opelousas, Natchitoches, Tangipahoa, Broussard, 
Thiboudaux, Grand Coteau, Plaquemine and Iberville. 

Iberville is in Ascension Parish, whose western bor- 
der is the Mississippi River. No visitor to Louisiana 
should be content without taking a trip by steamboat 
up the stream at least as far as the upper border of this 
parish, if possible going ashore on one of the abutting 
plantations and riding through the cane fields on a 
primitive field-car drawn on its iron track by a mule 
and driven by a typical plantation Negro. The journey 
should be continued to Baton Rouge, since 1847 the 
capital of the state, chosen for one reason, perhaps, be- 
cause it is on a bluff far above the reach of floods. 

But why stop at Baton Rouge ? Go on around the 
bends above the city, where the river wanders with ap- 
parent aimlessness — meanders in tortuous fashion be- 
cause the water has chosen the path of least resistance, 
a choice that, in time of flood, often leads to the over- 

237 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

coming of some of the wicker barriers that once turned 
the water, until a new channel is made, across a bend. 

The Mississippi is the best example in the United 
States of a stream that meanders thus and that changes 
its meande rings in a way still more trying, so that it 
is always proving a puzzle to those who live on its 
banks or have business on its waters. Channels change, 
acres disappear or shift from one side of the stream 
to the other, and so many other like things occur that 
the startling ceases to startle and the unexpected be- 
comes the expected. 

Those who studied John Pinkerton's Geography of 
1804 were told of the shifting Misssissippi in the fol- 
lowing words : 

**The direction of the channel is so crooked that 
from New Orleans to the mouth of the Ohio, a dis- 
tance which does not exceed 460 miles in a straight line, 
is about 856 by water. It may be shortened at least 
250 miles by cutting across eight or ten necks of land, 
some of which are not thirty yards wide." 

St. Francisville, in West Feliciana Parish, some 
distance north of Baton Eouge, is at the beginning of 
one of the most striking meanders in Louisiana. Along 
this stretch of river, one day in 1821, passed Audubon 
the naturalist on his way to Oakley, the plantation home 
of James Pirrie on Bayou Sara, a sluggish tributary 
of the Mississippi. Audubon had promised to tutor 
Pirrie 's daughter for sixty dollars a month, with the 
understanding that he was to have half of his time for 
hunting and drawing. 

After leaving the stream at St. Francisville Audu- 
bon walked five miles to Oakley. In his journal he noted 
the startling change in the scenery along the route. 

238 




OAKLEY PLANTATION, WEST FELICIANA PARISH, LOUISIANA 
Here J. J. Audubon taught Eliza Pirrie drawing in 1821 




THE UUELLINCJ OAKS, CITY I'AKK, XEW UKLEANS, LUCISIAXA 



TRIANGULATING LOUISIANA 

Instead of lowlands, seen all the way from New Orleans, 
there were alluring highlands. **The rich magnolia, 
covered with fragrant blossoms, the holly, the beech, 
the tall, yellow poplars, the hilly ground and even 
the red clay all excited my admiration," he wrote. 
' ' Such an entire change in the face of nature in so short 
a time seems almost supernatural. Surrounded once 
more by numerous warblers and thrushes, I enjoyed 
the scene." 

The plantation home at Oakley is still standing. 
Francis Hobart Herrick, in his biography of the natur- 
alist, says it has changed but little since that time, but 
the century that has nearly sped its course has added 
strength and beauty to the moss-hung oaks which now 
encompass it and temper the heat of the southern sun 
in the double-decked galleries which enclose its whole 
front. Built of the enduring cypress, the house stands 
as firm and sound as the gaunt but living sentinels of 
that order which tower from the brakes not far away. 
It is occupied to-day by the great granddaughter of 
the young woman whom Audubon tutored. 

The stay at Oakley was brought to a conclusion by 
the jealousy of Miss Pirrie 's physician, her lover, who 
said that the maiden's health would not permit her to 
write or draw for a period of four months ! 

Only a few miles above Oakley is the mouth of the 
Red River, maker of millions of acres of alluvial land, 
most of it as yet undeveloped. Modem travelers up the 
river that flows through this rich domain find it difficult 
to realize what a menace to health and comfort the 
stream was in early days when the heavy timber along 
the banks fell into the water, choked the channel for a 
distance of one hundred and fifty or two hundred miles, 

239 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

diverted the waters, and so spread malaria over a wide 
extent of country. 

G. "W. Featherstonhaugh, an English traveler who 
visited the country in 1835, wrote with wonder : * * Of the 
extent of the deposits of dead timber something like an 
adequate idea can be formed by giving some details 
of the nature and extent of that particular one called 
the Great Raft, and of those means adopted to remove 
it, which do so much honor to the Congress that author- 
ized them, and to Captain Shreve, the officer to whom 
the execution of the work was entrusted. When this 
intelligent and energetic man came upon the ground 
in the spring of 1833, he found that the raft extended 
up the bed of the river for one hundred and fifty miles. 
Not that the whole channel of the river was blocked 
up by it, but the dead timber occupying one-third of 
the breadth of the river, the whole stream had conse- 
quently become unnavigable, numerous mud islands 
ha\^ng been formed everywhere, especially on the sur- 
face of the raft, and trees and bushes growing on them 
all. Not far from the line of the river were numerous 
lagoons and swamps — once its ancient bed — into which 
the river pours by bayous and low places; these he 
stopped up with timber taken from the raft, and, con- 
fining the stream to its bed, produced a current of three 
miles an hour ; whereas, before he began his operations, 
he found the river quite dead, and without current for 
forty miles below the southern termination of the raft. 
As soon as a current was established he, by means of 
huge floating saw mills, worked by steam, cut portions 
of the raft out, and let them float down the stream. At 
length the current became sufficiently lively to wear 
away the mud banks and island and give an average 

240 



TRIANGULATING LOUISIANA 

depth of twenty-five feet to the river. During the 
first season of his operation he succeeded in removing 
about seventy miles of the whole mass of the Great 
Raft, and it is now confidently believed that a good 
steamboat navigation will soon be opened to its 
farthest extent." 

Captain Shreve removed the obstruction for about 
one-tenth of the three million dollars at which he esti- 
mated the cost before taking the contract for the Gov- 
ernment. His headquarters were at Shreveport, not 
far from the point where the Red River enters Louisi- 
ana from Arkansas. 

Shreveport, the second city of Louisiana, is the 
center of a territory of great possibilities. Timber, oil, 
gas, cotton and sugar-cane prove the wisdom of Captain 
Shreve when he pitched his camp on the high ground 
at this point. Here the river touches the remarkable 
backbone of West Louisiana, a ridge varying in width 
from twenty to fifty miles, between the Sabine River 
on the west and Red River and Calcasieu River on the 
east, and reaching to within forty miles of the Gulf. 
Along this ridge are some of the choicest parts of 
the state. 

The traveler who ascends the Mississippi and Red 
Rivers to Shreveport, then goes by rail along the ridge 
from Shreveport to Lake Charles — in the midst of the 
long-leaf pine region, where there is access to the Gulf 
by way of the beautiful Calcasieu River and the canal 
fourteen feet deep and ninety feet wide — and finally 
passes to New Orleans, across the southern end of the 
state, will have completed a triangular trip which will 
enable him to say he has really seen Louisiana. 



16 



CHAPTER XXVII 
IN THE LAND OF HOUSTON 

UNTIL Texas the marvelous is actually crossed 
from east to west and from north to south it 
means little to a man to read that the area is 
more than two hundred and sixty-eight thousand square 
miles. But when the Southern Pacific passenger from 
New Orleans to Los Angeles finds himself for the 
greater part of two days within the southwestern em- 
pire, or when the two-day trip from Trinidad, Colo- 
rado, to Corpus Christi is almost all of it within the 
land of Houston, the vast size of the state — more than 
five times that of Hlinoi's and nearly six times that of 
Tennessee — is appreciated. 

And what a variety of surface there is in the vast 
area of which many think — according to the portion 
they have seen — as a region of uninteresting flat lands, 
or a series of depressions known locally as hog-wallows, 
or a succession of endless barren plains, or a territory 
of rugged mountains! In fact, the state contains all 
these interesting regions in succession, and more. 
There is the Coastal Plain or Coast Prairie, the For- 
ested Area where the pine woods flourish, the fertile 
Black Waxy Prairie, the Grand Prairie, the Central 
Denuded Region, the Llano Estacado or Staked Plain — 
level, grass-covered, with here and there a growth of 
bear grass and yucca — and the lands across the Pecos 
where the mountains rise until Guadalupe Peak, the 
highest point in the state, is ninety-five hundred feet 

242 



IN THE LAND OF HOUSTON 

above the sea. Surely there is ample variety in Texas ! 
And every one of these clearly defined portions of the 
state is as large as many another state in the Union I 

Not long after leaving Lake Charles, Louisiana, the 
Southern Pacific passenger enters the region of the 
first Texas oil bonanzas, near Beaumont, well within 
the Coastal Plain. Once the city was dependent on its 
lumber and rice. These commodities are still handled 
in a princely manner, but oil has succeeded in pushing 
other products into the background. 

There was a time when to the sportsmen the name 
Beaumont brought up visions of ducks and geese and 
quail near by, as well as bear and turkeys in the Big 
Thicket, fish in the Neches River, or bathing in the 
warm waters of the Gulf an hour's ride away. But 
now most people forget these allurements in the ex- 
citement of listening to the tales of those who have 
won fortunes or who think they are just on the point 
of becoming independent through the wealth hidden 
deep in the earth untold ages ago. 

The oil wells ebb and flow, the boom dies down only 
to take on new life, but the city keeps on growing from 
year to year. Why shouldn't it, when its citizens have 
had the energy to make it a seaport, though it is far 
inland, by means of the twenty-six foot channel in the 
Neches, of which several hundred ocean-going ships 
take advantage each year, tying up for a season at one 
of the municipal docks on the water front thirty-five 
miles long? 

Houston, too, has triumphed over the fifty miles 
that separate it from the G-ulf by the construction of a 
deep-sea channel for vessels laden with oil and rice and 
lumber. For the building of the channel she had en- 

243 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

couragement in Buffalo Bayou, which gave its name to 
the settlement as late as 1849, when it was a mere ham- 
let. Yet this was thirteen years after the grandiloquent 
advertisement which told of the town situated * ' at the 
point which must ever command the trade of the largest 
and richest portion of Texas." The advertisement 
went on to say, ''Nature seems to have designated this 
place for the future seat of government." 

It was, indeed, the temporary location of the capital 
of the Republic of Texas. On April 16, 1837, the execu- 
tive departments were removed by vessel from Colum- 
bia. The same schooner carried the equipment of the 
Telegraph, which, before leaving Columbia, said : "The 
process of building is rapidly advancing in Houston. 
The building intended for our press is 
nearly finished." 

A month later, however, the Telegraph wailed in dis- 
appointment: "Like others who have confided in 
speculative things, we have been deceived; no build- 
ing has even been nearly finished at Houston intended 
for the press ; fortunately, however, we have succeeded 
in renting a shanty, which, although like the capitol in 
this place — 

" Without a roof, without a floor. 
Without windows, and without a door, • 

is the only convenient building obtainable. ' ' 

When Audubon visited Houston in 1837 he was not 
enthusiastic. "The Buffalo Bayou had risen about six 
feet," he wrote, "and the neighboring prairies were 
covered with water; there was a wild and desolate look 
cast on the surrounding scenery. We had already 
passed two little girls, encamped on the bank of the 

244 



IN THE LAND OF HOUSTON 

bayou, cooking a scanty meal; shanties, cargoes of hogs- 
heads, barrels, etc., were spread about the landing, and 
Indians, drunk and hallooing, were stumbling about in 
the mud in every direction. ' ' 

Then he went on to tell of wading through water 
up to the ankles on his way to the President's man- 
sion, a log house of two rooms and a passage between. 
Next he proceeded to the capitol, ' ' as yet without a roof, 
while the floor, benches and tables of both houses of 
Congress were as well saturated with water as our 
clothes had been in the morning. ' ' 

Houston has become one of the proudest cities of 
Texas, but she is not ashamed of the heroic days, nor of 
the early heroes who maintained her independence. 
Proudly she shows the visitor to San Jacinto battle- 
field, where General Sam Houston defeated Santa Anna 
and paved the way for the coming of the Lone Star 
State into the Union. 

On his way to Houston Audubon entered Galveston 
and looked on many reminders of the war so recently 
ended. **The only objects of interest we saw were the 
Mexican prisoners ; they are used as slaves — made to 
carry wood and water and cut grass for the horses and 
such work; it is said that some are made to draw 
the plow. ' * 

The presence of the Mexican prisoners on Galveston 
Island was a fit sequel to the history of this bit of 
low-lying land facing the Gulf. The first visitors came 
in 1686 when La Salle discovered the bay. In 1816 Jean 
Lafitte, pirate of the Gulf, took possession, and, when 
perhaps one thousand discontended men flocked to his 
standard, he was appointed governor of the island. 
His power increased until the day — an unfortunate day 

245 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

for him — when he ventured to lay rough hands on a 
ship that flew the Stars and Stripes. 

The real beginning of the modem settlement was in 
1837, the year of Audubon 's visit. Since that time there 
has been a constant struggle with untoward conditions. 
The dream was 'Ho have Liverpool ships of largest 
draught at the very docks." This was the statement 
made in 1874 when a humorous artist pictured the un- 
loading of a schooner at Galveston — a negro with a 
mule and a cart, over the hub in water, driving from 
schooner to shore! 

To-day Galveston has a marvelously complete equip- 
ment. It is a port of the first magnitude. The mam- 
moth sea wall bids defiance to the waves that once 
brought destruction and death in their wake. Re- 
claimed from the sea by the perseverance of undaunted 
citizens, *'the Oleander City" welcomes those who go 
there once, wondering, perhaps, if they will not be bored 
by the languor of a semi-tropical seaside town, and 
remain long or return promptly, because they are enam- 
ored of the strange but desirable combination of bustle 
and rest, change and stability. This combination is 
typified so well by the heroic statue of Henry Rosen- 
berg, the Swiss merchant-benefactor, at the corner of 
Broadway and Rosenberg Avenues. Of this statue 
the Galveston News said, at the time of the unveiling : 

''Rising in silent dignity from a Galveston espla- 
nade of spreading pahns, blossom-laden oleanders, and 
close-cropped grass, a great bronze figure looks stead- 
fastly to the north, out over the plains of Texas. It is 
a Texas of roaring cities, of busy towns, of crop-bearing 
fields that now meets the gaze of the tranquil bronze 
face, looking out on harbors filled with ocean liners, 

246 



IN THE LAND OF HOUSTON 

across the coast country truck gardens, past the mid- 
state fields of cotton, to the horizon-bounded plains 
where cattle thrive." 

The statue stands near the upper end of Galveston 
Island, one of the many low islands that fringe the long, 
curving coast line of Texas, separating the waters of 
the Gulf from the quiet bays and lagoons that make 
the harbors where ocean-going vessels enter, and where 
are the pleasure resorts to which Texans and those 
who have learned the joys that Texas offers gather in 
the time of the state's greatest appeal. When is that? 
Go to Texas and learn for yourself ! There are as many 
opinions on this point as there are seasons. 

The next of the islands below Galveston Island is 
Matagorda Island, which, with Matagorda Peninsula 
on the northeast, protects the waters of Matagorda 
Bay and San Antonio Bay, notable because these were 
entered by La Salle when he was searching for the 
mouth of the Mississippi. One of his two ships was 
wrecked. Later he built Fort St. Louis, the first 
European settlement in Texas. 

The pilgrim who follows the coast to the southeast 
speedily finds Padre and Mustang Islands, with 
Aransas Pass and Corpus Christi Pass, the narrow 
inlets leading to glorious Corpus Christi Bay, eighteen 
miles wide and more than twenty-five miles long, haunt 
of the birds that delight the sportsman's heart — geese, 
brant, crane and ducks of many kinds, mallard, pintail, 
widgeon, canvas-back, teal and blue-bill; home of the 
red fish, the speckled trout, the Spanish mackerel and 
even the Silver King, or leaping tarpon ; favorite resort 
of those who seek bathing beaches where conditions are 
so favorable that those who once enter tne water forget 

247 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

the hours for meals while they gain strength for carry- 
ing the responsibilities of later days. 

Corpus Christi has a right to the title lovingly given 
to her, * ' The Naples of the Gulf. " As in Naples, skies 
there are azure, and the sun-kissed waters borrow the 
radiance of the heavens. And as Naples defies the vol- 
cano's worst, so Corpus Christi rises superbly from 
the heart-breaking disaster of hurricane and tidal 
wave, and is clothed again in the beauty that made 
Judd Mortimer Lewis sing : 

When the hour has come for resting and for dreams, I look away, 
And my heart's in Corpus Christi, down on Corpus Christi Bay; 
I see her like a maiden, hands outstreitched and starry-eyed. 
Prairies blossom-starred behind her, with her pink feet in the tide. 

With reluctance the Texas pilgrim leaves Corpus 
Christi, but if his path lies up the Nueces River toward 
San Antonio regret gives way to anticipation of what 
the City of the Alamo has in store. This metropolis 
of Southern Texas would be remarkable for its mineral 
springs, its sturdy business structures, its Medina 
Lake, impounded by an irrigation dam and made beau- 
tiful both by man and by nature. But all these things 
are overshadowed in the mind of the visitor by San 
Fernando Cathedral, built in 1734, and by the near-by 
chain of Spanish Missions dating from the eighteenth 
century — Missions Espada, San Juan and Conception. 
Mission San Jose dates from 1720. Its cloisters, statu- 
ary and carving are of perennial interest. Then there 
is the Alamo, fronting the beautiful Alamo Plaza, where 
the two hundred heroes led by David Crockett held at 
bay four thousand Mexicans, thus giving birth to the 
rallying cry that later cheered the Texans in their 
struggle for liberty. 

248 



IN THE LAND OF HOUSTON 

San Antonio was on the route taken by the old 
Mission Fathers when they went from Louisiana to 
Southern California, protected by Spanish cavalry. 
Their road, the San Antonio Trail, crossed the Col- 
orado Eiver eighteen miles below the present site of 
Austin. The commission appointed by the Republic 
of Texas to select a site for the capital were instructed 
to seek the prettiest spot in Texas, between the San 
Antonio Trail and the Colorado River. They knew 
where to go because a few months earlier, in 1838, 
President Lamar, while on a buffalo hunt on the upper 
Colorado, stood on the hill where is now the admirable 
state capitol building. For a moment he was silent, 
looking up and down the river and off to the south. 
Then he said, ''This should be the seat of future em- 
pire." So, in 1839, he sent the site-seeking commis- 
sioners, to Montopolis, a group of cabins near the well- 
remembered hill. The commissioners, too, became en- 
thusiastic, and soon afterward Austin was born, hav- 
ing been named for Stephen F. Austin, ** Father of the 
Republic." A one-story temporary capitol was built 
where later rose the walls of the City Hall. The busi- 
ness office of the first presidents was in a double log 
cabin near the present business center. 

To-day it is difficult to believe that as late at 1850 
there were but six hundred and twenty-nine people 
where to-day thousands of residents look up at the 
solid buildings, ride over the splendid automobile high- 
ways to Lake Austin, Marble Falls and Medina Lake, 
roam in the attractive parks or fish in the Colorado 
River, whose precipitous, rocky banks tell how accurate 
was the judgment of those who thought that here on 
the hills should be the capital of an empire. 

249 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

Austin on the Colorado has neighbors to the south 
that boast their location on rivers; there is Waco on 
the Brazos and Fort Worth and Dallas, the twin 
cities on the Trinity. Waco takes its name from the 
Huaco Indians, whose village was where the McLennan 
county seat now stands. * ' Huaco ' ' means * ' the bowl ' * ; 
thus the Indian lovers of the picturesque described the 
situation of their village at the junction of the Bosque 
with the Brazos, where natural features are so varied 
that it has been easy for Waco to set apart twenty 
parks and recreation areas. 

Fort Worth, too, speaks of other days — ^the days of 
the ranchers who marketed there the cattle from hun- 
dreds of thousands of acres. And stiU the down-town 
streets, in spite of their mammoth buildings, give their 
reminders of a famous shopping center on the day when 
the circus comes to town. Automobiles have displaced 
the more picturesque conveyances of the past, but when 
their owners park them on the busy streets it is easy 
to think of them as wagons waiting at convenient 
hitching posts. 

But when those machines are out in the road once 
more what opportunities they have for travel, oppor- 
tunities that would have made the ranchmen stare. All 
over Tarrant County are highways of superior excel- 
lence, among these being that to Lake Worth, largest 
artificial body of water in the Southwest, the delightful 
Meandering Eoad around the lake, and the boulevard 
over the undulating lands, past the pecan orchards and 
through the flowers that are found between Fort Worth 
and Dallas, a city so different from its near-neighbor, 
yet so full of bustle, business and beauty that it is typi- 
cal of the best in modem Texas. 

250 



IN THE LAND OF HOUSTON 

Those who keep to the prosaic railway will find it 
easy to go among these cities of East Texas. But how 
much more fortunate is the traveler by automobile who 
can follow the Meridian Highway from San Antonio, 
through Austin, to Waco and Dallas, and then can 
take the National Highway to Fort "Worth, Weather- 
ford and Abilene and the old Spanish Trail to El Paso, 
sentinel of West Texas, on the Rio Grande. 

But from Abilene a side trip should be taken south 
to the Colorado and through the hill country, down 
to Kimble and Kerr counties, a region of wonderful 
beauty. In Kimble Oounty are the Seven Hundred 
Springs, at the headwaters of the Llano River, where 
the water gushes from the rock and pours down the 
worn face of a huge bluff, creating at once a full-sized 
river. A few miles away, at the point of union of the 
North and South branches of the Llano, the county- 
seat town of Junction nestles in the valley below 
Lovers' Leap, a beetling crag far above the river — 
still another of the spots where Indian lovers, despair- 
ing because of parental objections that thwarted them, 
leaped to union in death. One may be permitted to 
doubt the story, but he cannot doubt the beauty of the 
landscape of valley and hill spread out below this 
elevated spot. 

The locomotive has not yet penetrated to Junction ; 
the advanced lines of the railroad are encountered at 
Kerrville, in Kerr County, whose location on the 
Guadalupe River gives it easy entrance to the region 
a few miles west of the young mountains, which are, 
in reality, foothills of the Llano Estacado. Like the 
Llano, the Guadalupe becomes a river just when it 
jumps out from under the south side of the Llano 

251 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

Estacado. Campers delight to linger along the fifty 
miles of the river's banks. One of them gave voice to 
his emotion in a long series of stanzas that are full of 
feeling, even if the meter does halt, as in the 
final stanza: 

Trouble is, a little outing on the Guadalupe will prove 
A trial to your heartstrings, when the time comes to move. 

Sometimes the trial to the heartstrings is avoided by 
moving on over Medina Hill to the valley of the Medina 
River, by way of the scenic road far above a deep can- 
yon, then up a hill past the twin flowing wells that are 
little lakes fifty feet across, on to Bandera Pass, the 
scene of famous Indian fights, and Camp Verde, where, 
as young lieutenants, both Robert E. Lee and Joseph 
E. Johnston had some of their first experiences at an 
army post. Cattle are raised now on the site of the 
old fort. This fort was the home of one of a drove of 
camels with which the Government experimented when 
Jefferson Davis was Secretary of War. 

From Cape Verde the road turns back to Kerrville, 
the starting point, thus completing a loop of fifty-four 
miles through fascinating country. 

In Kerrville the citizens tell with pride of a gov- 
ernor of Texas who stood on a hill above the town and 
said, "I fancy this is a little the most beautiful view 
in the world. ' ' These citizens will not own that there 
are any drawbacks to the country of their choice. One 
of them, with pardonable partiality, once said: ''In 
the summer time it gets hot everywhere, and climate 
boosters who say it does not are a bunch of nature- 
fakers. That is what summer is for. The thermometer 
rises up about as high here as it does in other places 

252 




MOUTH OF BIG PAINT, IN KIMBLE COUNTY, TEX A- 



■^ '4^!^ 










,^^ 



'?f^ 




NORTH PEAK, CHISOS MOUNTAINS, TEXAS 




30 



_ a 

« '^ 
K .5 

P c 

C 05 

as .1- 

33 

o 



IN THE LAND OF HOUSTON 

of the same latitude. ' ' Then, of course, he added that 
there is a difference in heat and gave the assurance that 
Kerrville's brand of aridity is the best possible kind, 
since the town is not in the arid section where the rocks 
are blistered and the underlips of the horned toads 
are sunburnt ! 

It is not necessary to retrace the route from Kerr- 
ville to the National Highway at Abilene if one is pre- 
pared to take roads that are not the best, though they 
are good. For directly through Kerrville and Junc- 
tion passes a road that leads to the Pecos River and 
joins the Old Spanish Trail perhaps two hundred miles 
from El Paso, the only large city along the two thou- 
sand miles of Mexican border. 

El Paso is old, unreasonably old, for the spot was 
named in 1598 by Juan de Onate. The real start of the 
American city was nearly three centuries later, in 1882, 
when the first railroad reached the point where the Rio 
Grande Valley cuts the central plateau among the 
Rocky Mountains at an elevation of nearly four thou- 
sand feet. Here the South touches hands with the 
"West. Within easy reach of the city are monster works 
of the men of to-day like the Elephant Butte Dam; 
works of the men of yesterday like the Cave dwellings 
of a prehistoric race over the line in Mexico, and the 
five towns, dating from 1682, each of which boasts its 
quaint old mission, more than two hundred years old; 
works of nature like the Hueco Tanks, rock formations 
of overwhelming grandeur which awed the emigrants 
who passed to California by the route through these 
wonders. Then there is Cloudcroft, nine thousand feet 
high, the location of ''the highest golf links in the 
world," and, far below, the strange White Sands, a 

253 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

wilderness of white dunes of pure gypsum, thirty-five 
miles long and fifteen miles wide, looking like great 
banks of snow. Close to these are the Grand Canyon 
of the Sacramento, which drops fifteen hundred feet 
within a few miles and is traversed by an overland 
automobile highway, the upper and lower falls of the 
Penasco Eiver, and Ruidoso River, brawling over the 
stones and forming pools in which the trout lurk en-^ 
ticingly. Finally there are the Franklin Mountains, 
whose six main peaks are from five to seven thousand 
feet high, the home of canyons and valleys, cliffs and 
springs, cacti and flowers. 

But it is folly to try to name all the pleasures in 
store for the visitor to El Paso or to attempt descrip- 
tions that, at best, will seem tame to those who refuse 
to go flying through the city on the way to or from 
California instead of taking advantage of the stop- 
over eagerly suggested by the railroad. 



CHAPTER XXVIII 

DOWN IN ARKANSAS 

HOW many people would include Arkansas in the 
list of the four or five most interesting states 
of the South? Yet it belongs in such a list. 
Many would go so far as to say that it is, in many 
respects, the state of greatest attractions. At any rate, 
few states have in them comers less known than some 
of the sections of Arkansas and better worth kno^ving 
than this state whose name is so often mispronounced 
as it is spelled. To pronounce it otherwise seems to 
many an affectation, though La Salle, in telling of his 
travels, spoke of visiting the villages of the Ar-kan-sa. 
In 1819 the Act of Congress creating the territory of 
Arkansas spelled the name Arkansaw nine times. And 
in 1881 the General Assembly of the estate, by solemn 
edict, stated that the pronunciation should be with the 
final letter silent. 

There is something in Arkansas for everybody. The 
geologist will find satisfaction in the *' bottomless " 
Manunoth Spring, in Fulton County, eighteen acres in 
extent, with a flow of 300,000 gallons a minute, or in the 
strange Sunken Lands of the northeastern part of the 
state, grim reminders of the New Madrid earthquake 
of 1811, when so many settlers lost their homes that 
they were permitted to locate on other lands. Among 
the locations so made were those on which Little Rock 
and Hot Springs are now found. 

255 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

For the sportsman there is keen delight in Big Lake, 
near the Sunken Lands, a pleasing body of water 
formed by the widening of Little Eiver. There he will 
be able to fish to his heart's content in the government 
preserves, where commercial fishing is frowned upon 
except for those who obey the strict rules laid down. 
A little farther south, along the St. Francis River and 
its bayous, there is some of the best black bass fishing 
in America. On the upper waters of the Ouachita, 
beyond Hot Springs, the bass seem to be waiting for 
the fly. And as for hunting in the Ozarks ! The man 
who knows how to go there after the foxes and wolves 
and wildcats can spin yams that will make his hearers 
resolve to turn their steps thither. 

Let the lovers of the beautiful go to these same 
Ozarks, in the northwestern part of the state. One 
hunter said that the glory of this mountain country is 
so great that the seeker after game must be on his 
guard lest, instead of giving his attention to the hunt, 
he permit himself to wander far afield. **I have stood 
at sunset on an Ozark peak," he said, *'and looked out 
over a series of valleys checkered with farms reaching 
miles and miles away, all lying soft under the smoke 
and haze of evening, and have thought that never, in 
any land, have I seen a more beautiful country. " 

It seems strange that more novelists and poets have 
not soaked themselves in Arkansas sunshine, following 
the example of Octave Thanet (Alice French) to whom 
the region between the Black and the "White Rivers was 
so well known. To her the cascade of the White River 
was an inspiration, and her plantation home at Clover 
Bend on Black River was a retreat for which she longed 
whenever she was called away from it. Lovingly she 

256 



DOWN IN ARKANSAS 

spoke of ** those unimaginably rich mountain ranges, 
sullenly guarding a world's store of metals, those mys- 
terious forests hardly tapped by the lumberman's axe, 
those neglected, untilled fields that yield luxuriantly 
even to the most careless culture." It is many years 
since the words were written, but they are as true 
to-day as a generation ago. 

Arkansas has also rich secrets to whisper to those 
whose interest is in the romance of the pioneer. What 
would be wanted more alluring than the record of 
De Soto 's journey in 1673 : 

'* Seeing there was no way of reaching the South 
Seas, we returned towards the North and afterwards 
in a Southwest direction, to a province called Quigata 
[supposed to be near Little Rock], where we found the 
largest village we had yet seen in all our travels. It 
was situated on one of the branches of a great river. 
"We remained here six or eight days to procure guides 
and interpreters, with the intention of finding the sea. 
The Indians informed us there was a province eleven 
days off where they killed buffalo, and where we could 
find guides to conduct us to the sea." 

Or there is the story of Tontitown, in Northwestern 
Arkansas, a few miles from Fayetteville, which began 
with the well-meant plan of Austin Corbin to colonize 
Italians on cotton lands along the Mississippi. The 
early death of the philanthropist threw affairs into con- 
fusion, and the colonists from sunny Italy were soon 
in despair. Many of them died in the swamps. The 
appeal of the survivors for help was heard by Father 
Bandini, an Italian priest in New York City, who spent 
his savings in reaching the colony. There he inspired 
the survivors, about one hundred of them, to follow 



17 



257 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

him away from the pestilential swamps. The journey 
across Arkansas was continued through the "svinter 
months, when rabbits were trapped for food. In the 
spring the priest borrowed eight hundred dollars, while 
some of the men worked on a new railroad and added 
their savings to the common fund. Thousands of acres 
were bought in the heart of the virgin forest. There 
was built Tontitown, named for one of La Salle's fel- 
low-explorers. In the new town everything was Italian ; 
the homesick people would have it so. Their houses are 
like the Italian houses. Seeds, trees, plows and all sorts 
of tools were imported. ''The eggs of all kinds of 
creatures came with them," a resident of the village 
said to a recent visitor, * ' and now we have even our own 
Italian crickets and Italian locusts. ' ' 

Near-neighbor to Tontitown is Eureka Springs, 
noted, among other things, for the glorious views from 
advantageous heights, scores of miles in every direc- 
tion, for strange Pivot Eock, perched precariously on a 
hillside, and for its proximity to the strange Crooked 
Creek, that loses itself in the sands of its bed, then 
passes under White River into Missouri, where it 
empties into the stream with which it thus plays 
hide-and-seek. 

Farther south Fort Smith, from its seat on the 
Arkansas River, looks southward and eastward toward 
high peaks of the Ozarks like Petit Jean in Yell County 
and Fourche Mount in Polk County, whose twenty-five 
hundred feet bring them within reach of the highest 
peak in the state, Magazine Mountain. Of this emi- 
nence Thomas Nuttall, in his ' ' Travels into the Arkan- 
sas Territory" (1821) presented a drawing — a pyramid 
with its top removed, wooded on sides and on the sum- 

258 




LOOKIX<; 1)0\\ X BUFFALO RIVER VALLEY, ARKANSAS 




LITTLE MISSOURI FALLS, ARKANSAS 



DOWN IN ARKANSAS 

mit. He said that the side which presented itself to 
him was '^ almost inaccessibly precipitous." 

Down near the center of the state, on the same 
Arkansas River — whose two thousand miles makes it 
the longest tributary of the Mississippi after the Mis- 
souri — Little Rock, the capital, has its site fifty feet 
above the stream. One bank of the river is a bold preci- 
pice, known as Big Rock, while opposite there is a penin- 
sula, reaching out into the stream. This is called Little 
Rock. Its name was given to the city that has been 
capital, first of the territory and later of the state, 
since 1821. The capitol building, the levee, and the 
National and Confederate cemeteries make a visit to 
the ''City of Roses" well worth while. 

Sixty miles southwest of Little Rock, over rolling 
country, lies Hot Springs, oldest and smallest and best 
patronized of the National Parks, where the Indians 
learned to go in search of health, where De Soto spent 
a season, where to-day from one to two hundred thou- 
sand visitors go each year. There they find not only 
forty-six thermal springs, gushing from the base of 
the mountains, but wooded hills, winding government 
roads, comfortable hotels and opportunities for rambles 
into the mysterious mountains. 

Nearly fifty years ago a writer in the Detroit 
Evening News, after a visit to this crowning glory of 
Arkansas, wrote : 

''What! Never heard of Hot Springs! Why, Hot 
Springs is the prettiest and ugliest, the richest and 
poorest, the nicest and meanest, the wettest and driest, 
the hottest and coolest, the best and worst place in 
Arkansas. They did their best to hide it away . . . 
in a little valley just on the edge of the Ozarks, but it 
steamed so it could not be hid. . . . 

259 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

* 'What does the place look like ! Oh, just as though 
some giant in bygone days had split the mountain open, 
about two rods wide and three miles long, and then 
picked up some big hotels, some stores, some bathing- 
houses, some dwellings and thrown them, as well as he 
could, into the bottom of the split. ' ' 

That description is all right to-day, if there is omit- 
ted all suggestion of anything unpleasant. Hot Springs 
is thoroughly pleasant, as it has a right to be. For it 
is in Arkansas. 



CHAPTER XXIX 

IN AND OUT OF LOUISVILLE 

**A I AHE Ohio is the most beautiful river on 
I earth," Thomas Jefferson declared. Then 

-■- what a claim Kentucky has to beauty even 
before the state is entered, since it possesses twice as 
much of the bewildering curves of La Belle Riviere as 
any other state ! And, having formed the habit of cling- 
ing to a meandering stream, it seemed natural to choose 
for its western boundary a portion of the Mississippi 
River where curves are at their worst. Witness the 
New Madrid bend, at the southwest corner of the state, 
where a steamboat that is twenty miles away by chan- 
nel can be seen across a mile of land. Only a few years 
ago this peninsula was three miles wide, but constant 
erosion has eaten away two-thirds of the land. Another 
strange thing about this double bend is that an aviator, 
flying across it at a carefully chosen spot, would pass 
from Missouri into Kentucky, from Kentucky into 
Missouri again, then into Tennessee. The first bit of 
Kentucky crossed is the mile-wide peninsula, orphaned 
from its parent state by the river and surrounded on 
three sides by the river and on the fourth side 
by Tennessee. 

About midway of the noble river boundary, at the 
Falls of the Ohio — rapids formed by a ledge of lime- 
stone — pioneers stopped in 1778 and made the first set- 
tlement, on the site of Louisville. They used good 
judgment in choosing this hill-surrounded spot. A 
traveler of 1792 spoke of the delightful and sublime 

261 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

situation and declared that the rumbling noise of the 
falls would tend to ''exhilarate the spot, and give a 
cheerfulness even to sluggards. " He was sure that the 
place would soon become a flourishing town. 

The traveler's judgment was vindicated. In 1799 
Congress made Louisville a port of entry, collectors 
there being charged with the duty of preventing the 
smuggling of goods from New Orleans, then a foreign 
port. The importance of the town thus dignified was 
increased by the emigrants who floated down the river, 
and the ever-increasing trade from Pittsburgh. In 1825 
the canal around the falls was begun, and Louisville 
was well launched on the triumphant career which, in 
1818, attracted George Keats from England. There 
he grew wealthy, in spite of the warning of his poet 
brother, John Keats, "Those Americans will, I am 
afraid, still fleece you. ' ' 

Another early English visitor to Louisville was 
Charles Dickens, whose uncomplimentary but interest- 
ing descriptions in "Martin Chuzzlewit" and in the 
"American Notes" do not agree with things others 
have told of the town in the early days. They seem 
impossible to modern visitors who carr^'^ away with 
them delightful memories of their stay in the city of 
stirring business activity and stalwart home life, whose 
trees and parks and boulevards fit in so well with the 
easy sweep of the broad river and the plunge of the 
floodwaters over the limestone ledge, so long a barrier 
to navigation. 

That harmonious picture was in the mind of a local 
author, who, in preparing a little biography for private 
circulation, penned a pleasing description of the city. 
The starting point was on Third Avenue : 

262 




FOURTH AVEXTE, LOnSVILLE, KENTUCKY 



IN AND OUT OF LOUISVILLE 

*'To the south run long lines of brick houses edged 
with the greenest grass and shaded by maples, oaks 
and poplars, in all their Kentucky symmetry. The 
avenue ends some miles away at a woodland park encir- 
cling a long line of hills. Toward the north the street 
leads through the business section straight into the 
Ohio River, broad, slow-moving, except where, near 
the Indiana shore, it rashes over rocks. To the west 
Louisville stretches with even streets bent slightly here 
and there, far beyond Central Park with the fairest 
trees the heart of a city ever knew, beyond the Cabbage 
Patch and Mrs. Wiggs' neighborhood, until the river 
again becomes the boundary as it curves around the 
Indiana hills. On the eastern side the city merges into 
the characteristically dimpled landscape of Mocking- 
bird Valley, Anchorage and Pewee Valley, the home 
of the Little Colonel." 

It is so delightful to be in Louisville that there is 
apt to be regret on leaving the city — unless there is the 
pleasant anticipation of a journey to some one of the 
many attractive spots so easily accessible from this 
as a starting point. 

One of these enticing regions is near Bards town, in 
Nelson County, less than fifty miles to the soutlieast. 
The lover of beauty will find satisfaction everywhere 
in the country, but the archeologist will want to go to 
the remnants of prehistoric parallel walls near the 
turnpike between Louisville and Nashville, four miles 
from Bardstown. Their size and massiveness are cause 
for wonder. Unfortunately the owner of the land sold 
much of the stone to a contractor who wanted it for 
use in rebuilding the turnpike, but there is enough left 
to stir the imagination of the beholder. Who were 

263 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

the builders, and what relation did these walls have 
to the two never-failing springs, each about five hun- 
dred feet distant ? 

Farther south in ihe same country, in the midst of 
rugged surroundings, is a silent community that speaks 
of the old world rather than the nevv^ — Gethsemane 
Abbey, the monastery where some ninety monks spend 
their days in contemplation or in the cultivation of the 
broad acres that have been won from the wilderness 
and made fertile by constant toil. Life in the abbey 
has been pictured Avith great skill by James Lane Allen 
in his story, ' * The White Cowl. ' ' 

What a contrast to the Abbey is furnished by the 
chaste memorial near Hodgenville, a few miles south, 
built about the log cabin birthplace of Abraham Lin- 
coln, whose life was spent to such wonderful pur- 
pose that more than half a century after his death 
biographers are still trying to interpret him for the 
later generations I 

A trip from Louisville that should be taken no mat- 
ter what else is omitted, is south less than one hundred 
miles along the turnpike to Nashville, across Green 
Biver, which has carved a path for itself through the 
sandstone and limestone plateau more than three hun- 
dred feet deep, to the wonderful cave region of Ken- 
tucky, where scores of caverns honeycomb the limestone 
down to a point near the level of the river. 

Those who seek the cave region by automobile will 
see enough of beauty to make them appreciate the de- 
scription written by John Muir when the country was 
not so well known as it is to-day. He marveled at ''the 
lofty, curving ranks of swelling hills . . . concaved 
valleys of fathomless verdure and . . . lordly trees 

264 



IN AND OUT OF LOUISVILLE 

with the nursing sunlight glancing in the leaves upon 
the magnificent masses of shade embosomed among 
their wide branches." 

If the trip is made by railroad, the train may be left 
at Cave City; from there a branch road runs a few 
miles to Mammoth Cave, the best known of the three 
caves, 'Hhe entrance to which," it has been said, ''could 
be covered by an equilateral triangle measuring hardly 
more than three miles. ' ' 

Within ten miles of Mammoth Cave Muir found a 
farmer who had never been to what he called disdain- 
fully ''only a hole in the ground." But a little later 
Bayard Taylor thought it worth while to travel far to 
enter the seventy-foot arch, in the midst of beautiful 
surroundings, which to the farmer was only a hole. 
When he came out he said : 

"I have been twelve hours underground, but I have 
gained an age in a strange and hitherto unknown world ; 
an age of wonderful experiences and an exhaustless 
store of sublime and lovely memories. Before taking 
a final leave of the Mammoth Cave, however, let me 
assure those who have followed me through it that no 
description can do justice to its sublimity or present a 
fair picture of its manifold wonders. It is the greatest 
natural curiosity I have ever visited, Niagara not ex- 
cepted. He whose expectations are not satisfied by its 
marvelous avenues, domes and starry grottoes must 
either be a fool or a demigod. ' ' 

Manunoth Cave, with its one hundred and fifty miles 
of avenues, was discovered in 1809, but the entrance 
to Colossal Cavern — smaller but by many considered 
not less marvelous — ^was not found until 1895. In the 
meantime thousands of visitors made pilgrimage to the 

265 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

region of Green River to see the caves. And still a few 
go that way. But why do not more go? The district 
should be made a National Park. There is talk of a 
Mammoth Cave Park; a bill for its erection has 
been before Congress. Surely such a bill will some 
day be made law. And when it is there will be a 
renewal of interest in the underground wonders of 
central Kentucky. 

Those who are wise will not wait until that time, 
but will choose to go when the country is almost as wild 
as in the days of which Muir and Bayard Taylor wrote. 



CHAPTER XXX 

DOWN THROUGH THE BLUE GRASS 

THERE are many ways of entering Kentucky's 
famous Blue Grass country from the north. 
One of the best of these is by means of the Ken- 
tucky River, winding along through the fields of grain 
and hemp and alfalfa and blue grass and tobacco, to 
the east of Shelby County, called "the Jersey Isle of 
America," to Frankfort, capital of the state, whose 
royal situation on the bending river, flowing between 
limestone bluffs with green billowy hills all around, 
must ever call forth exclamations of delight. But a 
prospect even more splendid is the reward of those who 
climb the hill to the beautiful capitol building. Prom 
the dome there is spread out a vast map of some of the 
state's wildest and most beautiful scenery. In this the 
men of the mountains take keen delight as they guide 
their rafts of lumber down to market, passing between 
deep gorges that are comparable to the Palisades of 
the Hudson. 

Other approaches from the north are from Coving- 
ton, opposite Cincinnati, by way of the railroad, or — 
better still — along the Covington and Lexington pike, 
once a buffalo trail, later a stage road, now a part of 
the Dixie Highway. For many miles this highway, 
keeping close to the railroad, gives opportunity for an 
intimate study of the rich country where fine horses 
feeding in the valley meadows and hospitable homes 
nestling deep in the groves, make the traveler appre- 
ciate the enthusiasm of Imlay, Kentucky's first his- 

267 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

torian, who, in 1792, said that ''Lexington is nearly 
central of the finest and most luxuriant country, per- 
haps, on earth. ' ' 

At that time the to\vn was already nearing its ma- 
jority. Among the first visitors to its site, it is said, 
were hunters from Boonesboro (or ''Boone's Burrow," 
as one writer gave the name). They were encamped 
where the city has since risen when news came to them 
of the battle of Lexington. At once they named the 
encampment after the toAvn where the Massachusetts 
heroes had boldly faced their enemies. At least this 
is the tradition that is — to quote the Lexington Herald 
— ^not lightly to be questioned or cast aside as pure 
fiction. Lexingtonians prefer to rest on Bancroft's 
acceptance of the tradition. 

Before the town was laid out frontiersmen were 
made curious by strange piles of stones, curiously 
wrought, in the woods where Lexington now stands. 
Under the surface of the ground they found other 
stones, then artificial caverns, catacombs in fact, and 
further indications that these were the remains of un- 
known builders centuries before the coming of the 
white men. 

Above these ancient remains Lexington was founded 
in 1779. One of the first buildings was the blockhouse, 
built at what is to-day the comer of Main and Mill 
Streets. Out from the gates one day went Alexander 
McConnell, in search of deer. Five Lidians captured 
him and led him away toward the Ohio River. But be- 
fore long he managed to kill three of his captors. Giv- 
ing the others the slip, he returned to the blockhouse, 
where he was received with amazement by those who 
had given him up. 

268 



DOWN THROUGH THE BLUE GRASS 

Without the walls of the blockhouse was a log school 
where John McKinney taught. Once, while waiting for 
his pupils, a wildcat attacked him, hooking crooked 
teeth about one of his ribs. His call for aid brought 
assistance. *' Don't be alarmed," he said. **It is only a 
cat I have caught. I need help in killing it*." Freed 
from the animal, he went into the schoolhouse and 
taught as if nothing had happened. 

That first school had a v/orthy successor in Tran- 
sylvania Seminary, chartered in 1780 at Danville, and 
removed to Lexington a few years laier. Daniel Boone 
was one of the jurors appointed to condemn land for 
its use, and George "Washington and John Adams were 
among the first subscribers to its funds. 

One of the early citizens attracted to Lexington was 
Henry Clay. In 1797 he entered the bustling town. 
*'Here," he said, ^'I established myself, without pa- 
trons, without the favor of the great or opulent, 
without the means of paying my weekly board, and 
in the midst of a bar uncommonly distingui'shed by 
eminent members." 

Eight years later he bought land on the pike lead- 
ing to Richmond and made his home there. This is- 
the site of Ashland, one of the historic shrines to which 
patriots turn their steps in ever-increasing numbers. 
A part of the estate has been cut up into building lots 
for encroaching Lexington, but the mansion where 
Clay's favorite son lived will be preserved. 

The first session of the Kentucky legislature was 
held at Lexington in 1792, but the capital was removed 
to Frankfort the next year. This was the year of the 
trial trip of the seamboat built by Edward West on a 
portion of the Elkhom, dammed for the purpose. The 

269 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

model of the vessel was destroyed when the Patent 
Office at Washington was burned in 1814. But the 
memory of the exploit remained. In 1816 the Ken- 
tuchy Gazette, when speaking of the departure of a 
steamer from Cincinnati for New Orleans, mentioned 
the fact that it was ' * worked on a plan invented by Mr. 
West nearly twenty years ago, and in a manner dis- 
tinct from any other steamboat now in use. ' ' 

Fifteen or sixteen years after this loyal utterance, 
a Lexington mechanic built the ** Western Star,*' one of 
the first locomotive engines produced in this country. 
A writer in a local paper, after telling of its ability 
to draw a car at a speed of eight miles an hour, said, 
**We never expected to travel by the aid of steam, but 
so it is. ' ' Yet the time soon came when steam was used 
in the railroad from Lexington to Frankfort. 

When Henry Clay first saw Lexington there were 
sixteen hundred people in the town. By 1832 it had im- 
proved so rapidly that the following description was 
proudly written of it : ' ' The town buildings in general 
are handsome and some are magnificent. Few towns in 
the West or elsewhere are more delightfully situated. 
Its environs have a singular softness of landscape, and 
the town wears an air of neatness, opulence and repose, 
indicating leisure and steadiness, rather than the bustle 
of business and commerce." 

That last sentence is now hardly true to the facts, 
but the next statement might have been made to-day : 
''The people are addicted to giving parties, and the 
tone of society is fashionable!" 

If it is possible to spend but one day in Lexington — 
the visitor who cannot stay longer is to be profoundly 
pitied — the day chosen should be Court Day, the second 

270 



s 



r 




►?^ 9 



^1 

* OS 

5 « 



DOWN THROUGH THE BLUE GRASS 

Monday of the month, a survival of primitive life. On 
that day the people from all around throng with 
their wares to the city, eager to dispose of them by 
barter. They gather on Cheapside, bringing mules and 
horses and carriages, cattle and sheep and produce. 
Negroes are there with second-hand flat-il-ons, razors, 
hoes, guns. Here is an old darkey and his dog singing 
a duet — that is, he sings and the dog yelps. Over yon- 
der a trader mounts a wagon seat and calls: ^'What 
will you give me for the horse' — perfectly sound horse? 
What do you bid ? Seven I 'm bid ; give me ten ! ' ' 

''These Court Days have a fascination for me," a 
resident said to the author, *'I never weary of them. 
In fact, I delight in everything about the place. I have 
lived in California, in Texas, in Virginia, in the East, 
but I feel that here is the most beautiful section of 
America. There is the grateful mellowness of the old 
Lexington life. It has the sweetness of age, a really 
ripe culture. To me the city stands for the gentle, the 
natural, the refined, the kindly. The Kentuckian feels 
deeply, though he is unable to give expression to his 
feelings. They are suppressed. When they do finally 
find expression there is a real eruption. 

**And down here in the Blue Grass people know 
how to get real satisfaction from life. For instance, 
on Sunday they like to take their relatives home from 
church, as well as the minister. And what a dinner 
they serve ! Let me tell you of a sample meal. Mind 
you, I am not speaking of a set company dinner, or a 
dinner in the house of a landowner, but a casual every- 
Sunday dinner in the house of a tenant farmer, whose 
Cousin Ben Allen and Uncle Jim Arthur and Aunt 
Sarah Boyd and all the rest are gathered about the 

271 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

board. (Remember that it is a matter of courtesy al- 
ways to call those about the table by two names — their 
own name and the family name, of which they are so 
proud.) This is what the twelve or fourteen at table 
eat : Com bread, perfect as only Kentucky women and 
cooks know how to make it. Beaten biscuit. Hot bis- 
cuit. Probably light bread. Whole country ham, pref- 
erably not less than one year old and brought on the 
table whole. Roast turkey or chicken. Some kind of 
beef in one of a number of forms. Gravy with dressing. 
Fish salad. Escalloped cabbage. Sweet com as a cus- 
tard. Pineapples or apples or similar fruit served with 
whipped cream. White potatoes, baked or mashed, 
swimming in butter. Either buttered or candied sweet 
potatoes, piping hot. All kinds of relishes, pimento 
cheese, pickles, celery, chow-chow. Ice-cream or 
peaches covered with whipped cream and three or four 
varieties of cake. . . . And the cooking is abso- 
lutely perfect. ' ' 

The cooks of to-day inherit their cunning from 
famous women like Jessamine Douglas, in whose honor. 
Jessamine County, to the south of Lexington, took its 
name; she lost her life while hurrying to warn the 
settlers of the approach of hostile Indians. 

The southern boundary of Jessamine County is 
made by the Kentucky River, which the railway crosses 
at a point where the palisades are boldest. The track 
passes from cliff to cliff on High Bridge, said to be the 
''highest structure of the kind over a navigable 
stream. ' ' More than three hundred feet below the track 
the river flows on toward the Ohio. The view from the 
bridge is so magnificent that the passengers wish they 
might pause there for hours. 

272 



DOWN THROUGH THE BLUE GRASS 

But in the neighborhood is so much of interest that 
a stopover should be made if possible. There is the 
cave in the cliff where Boone is said to have hidden 
from the Indians. South of the river, west of the 
bridge, a little Shaker community, Pleasant Hill, is ap- 
proached by a primitive ferry. Long ago the Shakers 
selected the spot because of its great beauty. Only a 
few of them are left, and these will soon be gone. 

Within easy reach of High Bridge are Harrodsburg 
— the first permanent settlement in Kentucky, founded 
in 1774 by the friend and companion of Daniel Boone, 
Captain James Harrod — and Danville, where was held, 
in 1784, the first constitutional convention to consider 
the separation of Kentucky from Virginia. 

Danville is well within the Blue Grass Country. 
The southern limit is twenty miles farther south, where 
the railroad pierces King's Mountain through a tunnel 
almost four thousand feet long. On the southern side 
of the mountain the country becomes more rugged, as 
if in anticipation of the crossing of the Cumberland 
River where it comes closest to the Blue Grass Country. 
The choice spot in this section of the stream is twelve 
miles from the crossing — Cumberland Falls, whose per- 
pendicular drop of eighty feet follows a series of rapids 
that make fit termination to the tour down through 
the Blue Grass. 



CHAPTER XXXI 
AMONG THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAINS 

STRICTLY speaking, the mountains of Ken- 
tucky are merely sturdy hills. But the com- 
bination of steep hills and deep valleys seems 
to put them in the mountain class. At any rate, it is 
difficult to convince the rambler through the thirty 
hill counties of the state that most of the eminences 
range only from three hundred to eight hundred feet 
above the valley. He prefers to think of them as moun- 
tams. And why not? 

At any rate, the pioneers who came over Boone's 
Wilderness Road and approached Kentucky through 
Cumberland Gap, where Kentucky, Tennessee and Vir- 
ginia meet, would probably have laughed at anyone 
who had the temerity to make light of the difficulties 
by referring to the heights about them as hills. 

The successors of these pioneers note with appre- 
ciation how the mountains make a stately bow to those 
who pass through them at this point which has been 
called **the most significant and suggestive place in 
America; for while Plymouth Rock was the landing 
place of the Puritans, Jamestown of the Cavaliers, 
Philadelphia of the Quakers, and Charleston of the 
Huguenots, it was through Cumberland Gap that both 
Roundhead and Huguenot, Puritan and Cavalier 
passed with the sober Quaker on the way to the 
Golden West." 

274 



AMONG THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAINS 

The town of Cumberland Gap is not remarkable for 
size, but its location amid the mountains is wonderful. 
Above the railroad that takes advantage of the natural 
gateway rise rocky heights which should be climbed for 
the sake of some of the most memorable views in the 
land. Here Daniel Boone must have stood — for it was 
his way to go to every place of beauty in reach. Mem- 
ories of him still cluster about the road, for fourteen 
markers have been set up along the route first pointed 
out by him. One of these markers is placed near the 
point where he entered Kentucky, high above what has 
with propriety been called one of the world's most 
beautiful highways. 

John Fox loved these mountains and the people who 
lived among them — **a race whose descent is unmixed 
English, upon whose lips linger words and forms of 
speech that Shakspere heard and used. ... A 
strange people, proud, hospitable, good-hearted and 
murderous. Religious, too, they talk chiefly of homicide 
and the Bible. ... A people living like pioneers, 
singing folk-songs centuries old, talking the speech of 
Chaucer, and loving, hating, fighting and dying like 
the clans of Scotland. ' ' 

Fox found his fame in these mountains. Over in 
Breathitt County, home of the feud, he discovered 
* ' Hell-f er-Sartain Creek," and told of it and of some 
of those who lived on it in a seven-hundred word story 
that made his name known to thousands. Later he 
wrote of another creek called Kingdom Come, and gave 
directions for reaching it. ''Go down Black Moun- 
tain," he said, ''and down the Kentucky to Whitesburg 
in Letcher County, and then on down the middle fork 
of Kentucky River and strike the mouth of the heavenly 

275 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

named stream." This is the country of ''The Little 
Shepherd," and the scene of ''The Trail of the 
Lonesome Pine. ' ' 

One of the charms of this mountain region is the 
custom of singing ballads of home composition. This 
custom tells of the Scotch, Irish and English origin of 
the people. The ballads are frequently accompanied on 
an instrument that is itself a survival of early days — 
the dulcimer, described as "a violin with greatly nar- 
rowed and elongated body and shortened neck, made of 
walnut or maple wood, strung with three strings 
plucked by a crow-quill held in the right hand. The 
melody is produced by the pressure of a bit of reed in 
the left hand upon the proper fret in the finger-board 
lying underneath the strings, as in a mandolin." Of 
the three strings, only the first is thus touched, and 
with the left hand. 

At Hindman, in Knott County, there is a mission 
school, one of whose teachers, Ann Cobb, has written 
an appealing bit of verse that speaks of the home life of 
these sturdy people of the Highlands and uses some 
of the quaint language that tells of their English origin. 
The searcher for the antique has penetrated even 
among these people with his offer of gold, but the 
stanzas indicate that he is not always successful : 

Dulcimore over the fireboard, a-hanging sence allus-ago, 
Strangers are wishful to buy you, and make of your music a show. 
Not while the selling a heart for a gold-piece is reckoned a sin ; 
Not while the word of old Enoch still standa as a law for his kin. 

Grandsir he made you in Breathitt the while he was courting a maid; 
Nary a one of hig offsprings, right down to the least one, but played. 
Played, and passed on to his people, with only the songs to abide, 
Long-ago songs of old England, whose lads we are battling beside. 
276 



AMONG THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAINS 

There you'll be hanging to greet him when Jasper comes back from the 

fight, 
Nary a letter he's writ us — but he'll be a-coming, all right. 
Jasper's the last of the Logans — hit's reason to feel that he'll beat, 
Beat, and beget sons and daughters to sing the old songs at his feet. 



CHAPTER XXXIl 

FOLLOWING WEST VIRGINIA'S RUSHING RIVERS 

OTHEE states may claim more navigable rivers 
than West Virginia, but it would not be easy 
for any other state to prove a claim to the pos- 
session of streams of such wonderful variety and such 
picturesque grandeur. 

From the far eastern comer, where Maryland, Vir- 
ginia and West Virginia greet one another, to Tug 
Fork and Big Sandy River — which together form the 
boundary along one hundred and thirty miles of Ken- 
tucky — there is a splendid succession of mountain- 
defying, gorge-making creeks and rivers whose banks 
would furnish wandering ground of utmost appeal for 
fifty summer vacations. In the country drained by 
these watercourses there is endless variety not only of 
scenery but of altitude. At Harper ^s Ferry in Jeffer- 
son County the bed of the Potomac is but two hundred 
and sixty feet above the sea. Down in Pendleton 
County, not far from some of the upper waters of the 
South Branch of the Potomac, Spruce Mountain is 
4600 feet high. These are the extremes. The fifty- 
three remaining counties of the Little Mountain State 
take full advantage of their opportunity to build 
heights where every prospect pleases and to mold val- 
leys where there is rich support for the prospector. 

When Morgans Morgan, first white settler in what 
is now West Virginia, ascended the Potomac in 1727, 
he stopped short of the mouth of the South Branch. 
Perhaps if he had gone on until he caught sight of the 

278 



FOLLOWING WEST VIRGINIA'S RIVERS 

entry of that stream from the south he would have 
been lured into the realm of the mountains that hover 
protectingly over the river almost all the way to its 
source far down in Pendleton County. And what a 
wonderland he would have threaded ! He would have 
seen gap after gap similar to that at Harper's Ferry, 
where the Potomac and the Shenandoah sweep majesti- 
cally through the Blue Ridge. The first gap is at the 
site of the old chain bridge, not many miles above the 
mouth. Again at Hanging Rocks, four miles below 
Romney, the same mountain is riven by its waters, while 
not far away Mill Creek has its own pass through Mill 
Creek Mountain. Between Petersburg and Moorefield 
the portals of the mountain once more open for the 
leaping waters. 

But gaps are not all that the South Branch has to 
offer. There are the Smoking Holes, where the river 
cuts a mountain from end to end. Geologists have read 
the history of this gorge ; they say that once the river 
made its way into a limestone cavern in the mountain 
and emerged several miles below. The caves were 
enlarged by the water. Later the roof fell in. The 
waters plunged over the fallen rocks, producing spray 
and mist that looks like smoke. 

Then there is the Trough, near Oldfields in Hardy 
County. Deep down in a gorge of its own building 
the river plunges through a mountain that discovered 
the folly of opposing the water as it determined to seek 
the greater stream to the north. 

In 1837 the South Branch was reached at Romney by 
the Northwestern Turnpike, then under construction 
from Winchester to Parkersburg. The route was sur- 
veyed in part by one of Napoleon Bonaparte's engi- 

279 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

neers, who had fled to America; the plan of the builders 
to compete with the National Road by enabling Virginia 
to retain her own trade with the West appealed to him. 
The way from Winchester was through Blue 's Gap in 
North Mountain and Mill Creek Gap, where the South 
Branch had long been at home. For some years the 
turnpike was a force to be reckoned with, but in time the 
locomotives of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad — which 
followed the same route closely for a long distance — 
displaced the stage-coach and the Conestoga wagon. 

The builders of the railroad thought they had sur- 
mounted many difficulties when crossing the Eastern 
Panhandle, a region almost evenly divided by the 
South Branch. But not until they came to the Cheat 
River did they learn the real meaning of the word 
obstacle. Then courage failed them ; they tried in vain 
to devise a way to reach the Ohio River without cross- 
ing the Cheat. Finally, however, they decided that 
they had no choice, and the river was crossed. Men 
marvelled who knew of the passage, whose difficulty was 
greater than had yet been attempted by a railroad. 

The route followed from Oakland, Maryland, to the 
Cheat was almost identical with that chosen by Wash- 
ington in 1784 when he was trying to map out his route 
by canal and river to the West. At that time the Gen- 
eral, noting the dark color of the river, said that he 
thought this was due to the thickets of laurel at the 
source. In those days the stream flowed through a 
tangled wilderness where laurel and rhododendron 
grow luxuriantly. Even to-day the growth persists in 
places, to the dehght of those who penetrate the mys- 
teries of the Cheat. 

At Morgantown Washington was told by those who 
290 



FOLLOWING WEST VIRGINIA'S RIVERS 

professed to know the region that all the way from 
Dunkard Bottom to the Monongahela the Cheat could 
be navigated. Yet it is known that few have succeeded 
in facing the swift current and the cataracts made as 
the waters dash over the ledges in the thirty-two miles 
of the gorge. This entire section is difficult, desolate 
and dismaying, but the final ten miles above the mouth, 
just over the line in Pennsylvania, surpass the re- 
mainder in grandeur. At times the fall is fifty feet 
in a mile. 

Of the nature of the gorge one of the railroad engi- 
neers wrote LQ 1828 : 

*'The bed of the stream is frequently filled with 
large masses of rock, many of them as large as a mod- 
erate house, sometimes so abundant we had to leap from 
one to the other. The mountains which form the banks 
rise almost immediately from the water's edge and pre- 
sent their steep sides at an angle of forty or fifty 
degrees to the height of seven hundred or eight hundred 
feet. In sixteen miles there is scarcely level ground 
enough to place the foundations of a small cabin. We 
were three days in goiag the distance. No horse ever 
penetrated there. ' * 

There has not been much change. In 1906 a ven- 
turesome newspaper correspondent, learning that few 
people had ever been through Laurel Hill along the 
stream, made the journey. It is difficult to realize that 
the story of the trip as he told it on his return had to 
do with a region so close to the heart of civilization, 
only a short distance from two of West Virginia's pros- 
perous residence and commercial centers. Yet he said : 

''Within half a mile the miserable path which I had 
been following ended in a tangle of laurel at a point 

281 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

beyond which no fishermen ever pass. The jungles on 
the canyon side were so dense that I preferred wading 
in the bed of the river to trying to break my way 
through. It was not often possible to wade the chan- 
nel, for at one step the water might be six inches deep, 
and at the next twenty-five feet. Sometimes the river 
spread to a width of three hundred or four hundred 
feet, again contracted to one-fourth that. Boulders 
blocked the channel in many places. 

''Many of the rapids are so rough that the water, 
despite its natural red color, assumes the whiteness of 
snow. Where the eddies are placid and the depths cav- 
ernous, the water looked as black as ink. At times 
within a foot of the shore a pole twenty feet long will 
not reach bottom. 

''At noon that day I had thirteen miles of gorge 
ahead ; at dark, eight. Many a cliff had to be climbed 
to pass precipitous banks. And many a boulder larger 
than a house blocked the only footing near the river. 

"I am no novice in making my way through rough 
countries among obstacles, but I had a nearer approach 
to starvation and physical exhaustion while in that 
canyon than ever before in my life. Yet that was the 
identical route which Washington believed was the 
highway over which would pass the interchange of com- 
merce between the East and the West. 

"On the morning of the third day I completed my 
thirteen miles going through the canyon, and got my 
first meal since starting. That was five miles below 
Dunkard Bottom. Here Washington thought a city 
would grow up — perhaps like Pittsburgh — at the head 
of water navigation and at the head of the highway 
across the Alleghenies.'* 

282 



FOLLOWING WEST VIRGINIA'S RIVERS 

To the east of the gorge of Cheat River are '*The 
Glades, ' ' the great Allegheny plateau, from two to three 
thousand feet high, where summer hotels give invita- 
tion to the tourist to linger in the country of the laurel, 
the mountain and the mysterious river. Oakland, Mary- 
land, and Brookside, Eglon, Aurora and Mount Chateau 
in West Virginia are centers in the elevated region 
from which walking tours can be made to the wonders 
of the Cheat. 

Dunkard Bottom is the point in the gorge nearest 
to Morgantown, on the Monongahela, the seat of the 
State University, one of the best in the South. And a 
little farther up the crooked river is Fairmont, where 
a state normal school flourishes. Above the beau- 
tiful town the Monongahela is entered by Tygart's 
River, another of the rushing streams that come 
from the Eastern Plateau, where are the state's 
loftiest mountains. 

Tygart's River is only one hundred miles long, but 
it drops more than two thousand six hundred feet in 
that distance. At the headwaters the country is moun- 
tainous, and the slopes of the valleys are steep and fre- 
quently precipitous. There wild beasts still have their 
dens in hidden places as in the days of which lines found 
in an old church record in Randolph County tell : 

The hungry bear's portentous growl. 
The famished wolf's uncouthly howl; 
The prowling panther's keenest yell, 
These echo from the gloomy dell. 

But still man holds his dwellings there, 
Defying panther, wolf and bear; 
But prowling varmints plainly tell 
This is no place for man to dwell. 

283 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

The moiintains high with grandeur rise 
And reach the everlasting skies; 
The vales between are dark and wild. 
And streamlets dash or murmur wild. 

The roaring rivers, rough and wide, 
Dash down, or pause and softly glide; 
And sometimes their onrushing waves 
Bear dwellers down to watery graves. 

Tygart's Valley is famous. It was one of the ear- 
liest valleys in the state to be settled by those who tilled 
the land. They were attracted by the fertile soil along 
the forty miles of stream where the floor is from half 
a mile to a mile wide. Once — so geologists say — the 
river ran on the summit of the mountain and has gradu- 
ally cut its way down, making the attractive valley, 
nearly two thousand feet below the sununit of Cheat 
Mountain on the east and Eich Mountain on the west. 

Tygart's Eiver meets the West Branch of the 
Monongahela at Fairmont, after its less strenuous 
passage through the Central Plateau where altitudes 
are not so great. Yet the beauty of its course may be 
judged at Clarksburg, once the frontier hamlet of 
George Rogers Clark's founding, which slept amid the 
rounded hills until the railroad and the gas and 
the oil roused it from sleep and turned it into a mighty 
industrial center. 

The Clarksburg of to-day is a most attractive com- 
bination of old Southern calm and modern Northern 
bustle. There relics of plantation days look out on 
lofty business buildings, and slave quarters survive 
just across from a hotel that would do credit to a city 
of four times Clarksburg's population. A tablet in a 
business street records the fact that * * Stonewall Jack- 

284 



FOLLOWING WEST VIRGINIA'S RIVERS 

son was bom here," and Federal earthworks frown 
down from the hills on the triumphs of peace and plenty. 

Clarksburg is the city of glass — window glass and 
table glass, tumblers for the million, clear jars for 
Chicago's bacon and dried beef and Philadelphia's 
peanut butter, yellow snuff jars for Memphis, amber 
beef extract bottles for England. These are the 
products of one of the world's greatest furnaces for 
making and cooking the sand and other ingredients that 
go through two thousand five hundred degrees of bub- 
bling, boiling, sizzling, dazzling heat until they flow like 
molten lava into the waiting molds. 

When finally the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad 
leaped across the Cheat it came to Grafton and Clarks- 
burg, and passed on toward Parkersburg, on the Ohio. 
In 1827 the surveyors reported that if this route should 
be chosen too many tunnels would be necessary. In 
that day the art of tunnel-building was not understood, 
so it was not strange that this path to the Ohio was 
declared impossible. Yet the rate of construction was 
so slow that ample time was given to gain courage for 
the contest with the rocks. And what a contest it 
proved! Twenty-seven tunnels between Grafton and 
Parkersburg, one of them being the longest in the world 
at the time of its construction ! In that day drills driven 
by steam and electricity had not been invented. Dyna- 
mite was unknown. Think of picking out a mile of 
flinty rock, with hard tools assisted by the use of ordi- 
nary powder ! But the railroad was at last completed 
across the state. Twenty-eight years were required 
for the building of the single track from Baltimore 
to Parkersburg. 

The second great railroad to cross the state followed 

285 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

many years later. The Chesapeake and Ohio went 
through Greenbrier County, the region made famous 
by White Sulphur Springs and its companion resorts, 
where the Greenbrier River flows down to a junction 
with New River at Hinton. 

Seven miles from Hinton, on the Greenbrier, one 
of the last battles of the Civil War was fought, late in 
August, 1865. Thunnond's Rangers, descending the 
Greenbrier lq a canoe hollowed from a poplar log, were 
fired on from the bluff by Union troops. 

Hinton is in Summers County, which will ever be 
memorable in the annals of Revolutionary days be- 
cause, on January 20, 1775, the citizens of what was 
then Fincastle County drew up a paper of which a 
paragraph was : 

"We declare that we are deliberately determined 
never to surrender these [inestimable privileges] to 
any power upon earth but at the expense of our lives. 
These are real, though unpolished, sentiments of lib- 
erty, and in them we are resolved to live or die. ' ' 

The stalwart signers of that document must have 
drawn strength from their contact with the rugged 
gorge of New River and the mountains that tower far 
above the waters. 

It will be difficult to contest the claim that New 
River scenery *'is probably not surpassed by any- 
thing east of the Rocky Mountains." In 1872 a 
writer in Scribner's Magazine called the canyon ''one 
of the most remarkable natural wonders of the East- 
ern States." 

The New River Canyon has been described as "a 
deep crack in the earth, a hundred miles long, a mile 
wide at the summit, from eight hundred to one thousand 

286 




VALLEY FALLS, TYGART S RIVER, WEST VIRGINIA 




ON NEW RIVER, WEST VIRGINIA 




SANDSTONE CLIFFS, ABOVE NUTTALL, NEW RIVER, WEST \TUCilNTA 



FOLLOWING WEST VIRGINIA'S RIVERS 

three hundred feet deep, and having at the bottom a 
noisy, turbulent stream." 

Less than half a century ago few men had traversed 
the entire canyon from Hinton to Kanawha Falls. 
Many had stood on the edge of the crack in the sweeping 
plateau far above the stream, but they held life too 
valuable to venture down where later the rail- 
way engineers made room for the tracks and so 
opened up to the enjoyment of millions a journey in 
many respects unrivaled. 

The opening of the road through the canyon led an 
enthusiast to prophecy : **It will not be long before we 
number a hundred million; the child is already bom 
who may see the Union contain even one hundred and 
twenty millions. Looking for this near, or at least not- 
far-off, future, it is of inestimable importance that we 
have a country so rich in natural wealth as ours. The 
opening of a great region, near the center of our popu- 
lation, in a mild climate, not far from the center of 
commerce, so rich as West Virginia in the minerals 
most important to all industries, is something of imme- 
diate and direct interest. ' ' 

Near the end of the canyon the beetling crag Hawk's 
Nest rises far above the stream. Then come Kanawha 
Falls and the mouth of Gauley River, which began its 
tumultuous course over in Pocahontas County, in the 
general region where Cheat River and Tygart's River 
make their start. Perhaps, fifty miles from the source 
one of the summer campers who have learned that there 
is no better place than in the West Virginia mountains 
to seek a combmation of scenery and sport told of 
camping on a ridge at the foot of which the Gauley 
** rushed down over the rocks or swirled about in fishing 

287 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

pools. Just across the road from the camp, and again 
on the other side of the river, as far up and down the 
valley as one could see, the hills rose wild and beauti- 
ful, green- wooded to the top, except where great ledges 
of bare rock thrust the trees aside." 

A resident of the hills was asked his opinion of the 
country. * ' I love it, ' ' he said. ' * I was bom here among 
the hills, and I'm just weary anywhere else. I've tried 
it, but I always come back. "When the laurel bushes 
blossom in the spring it's the prettiest place I ever saw. 
Men aren't always to be trusted, but these hills are 
always just the same. ' ' 

Beyond the mouth of the Gauley New River is known 
as Kanawha River. The mountains that before kept so 
close on either side recede, first on one bank, then on 
the other. Between the river and the slopes rich bot- 
tom lands are covered with the dark green of the pas- 
ture or the lighter green of the cornfields, where grow 
luxuriant crops that owe their life to the silt deposited 
by the flood as it falls three thousand one hundred feet 
in four hundred and twenty-seven miles. 

The last ninety miles of the Kanawha, from a point 
above Charleston to its mouth at Point Pleasant, have 
been made navigable by locks and dams, so that busy 
packets and picturesque towboats can ply the waters 
up and down the stream. This improvement in navi- 
gation was begun in early years by the James River 
and Kanawha Canal Company and was completed by 
the United States. Here the first movable dams in 
America were constructed, one of them being at 
Brownstown, nine miles from Charleston. 

Charleston, long called Kanawha Court House, has 
the distinction of being near the site of the cabin across 

288 



FOLLOWING WEST VIRGINIA'S RIVERS 

from Thoroughfare Gap, where Daniel Boone waited 
for the buffalo, elk and other animals that flocked 
through on their way to the salt springs by the river. 
Other pioneers followed him, attracted not only by the 
game but by the salt found along seventy miles of the 
river from its mouth and back into the country from the 
stream, a distance of twelve or fourteen miles. There 
was a time when five million bushels a year were gath- 
ered in this area, and salt was an important item in 
the commerce of Charleston and other river ports. To- 
daj^, however, the production of salt in this region is 
not one-fourth as large. 

Yet the salt wells have left a far more important in- 
dustry in their wake. Natural gas was discovered in 
1815 while men were boiing for salt, but not for a 
generation was the greatest gas discovery made — a well 
whose roaring could be heard for many miles. In 1841 
the natural gas was first used for manufacting pur- 
poses here in the Kanawha Valley. 

Then came the great oil discoveries. For years the 
indications of oil had been noted. It floated over many 
of the salt wells and found its way into the Kanawha. 
*'01d Greasy" was a popular name for the river among 
the old-time boatmen. 

To the fact that the petroleum industry had its start 
in "West Virginia is due the perfection of "some of the 
wonders of the world,'* as a "West Virginia historian 
proudly claims: "the drill that bores through rock 
thousands of feet thick; the casing that keeps the well 
open; the dynamite shot that shatters the rocks half 
a mile below the surface; the pump that operates many 
wells at once; the enormous tanks; the hundreds of 
miles of pipe line which pass over mountain and under 

289 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

rivers; the refineries which are the largest chemical 
apparatus on earth. ' ' 

Charleston is built on a plain that rolls up to a green 
ridge three hundred to five hundred feet higher. It 
has the advantage not only of the Kanawha, but also of 
the Elk, a tributary from the northeast which, in the 
opinion of many, is one of the choice streams of the 
state. Since its source is but a few miles north of the 
upper waters of Gauley River, it shares with that moun- 
tain stream the right to claim some of the best sur- 
roundings of Webster County. Webster Springs, 
famous for sulphur springs, is high up in a bowl-like 
hollow with mountains on every side. Through the 
bowl flows the tumultuous Elk, **a blue ribbon of poetry 
and delight." Once the Shawnee Indians made peri- 
odical pilgrimages to the Springs by way of this stream, 
for which they had great reverence. There was a 
legend among them that in the year of drouth and 
famine the elk, parched with thirst, came down from 
the mountains to the valleys. Many of the noble ani- 
mals died, but those in the herd of the great leader 
Scar Face were shown the way to water and food when 
no other leader could find them. But the day came when 
even Scar Face could find nothing for the herd. For 
days he searched in vain. Then he heard the rumbling 
of water beneath his feet. Eagerly he pawed the earth. 
The exertion was too much for him; he fell dead just 
as his hoof opened the way to a cavity from which the 
waters were springing forth. And out over his body 
flowed Elk River. 

The Indians who repeated this legend about their 
camp fire used to find their way to Buzzard Roost, a 
great cliff at the point where Little Creek enters the 

290 



FOLLOWING WEST VIRGINIA'S RIVERS 

Elk. One of the few novelists who have written of the 
West Virginia mountains gave a pleasing description 
of the Indians ' outlook : 

* ' On one side Little Creek had eroded the mountain 
until the naked rocks stood out bold and bare ; and on 
the other side Elk River had done the same. The result 
was Buzzard Roost. Shaped like a triangle lying prone 
with its base toward the hills, it pointed out like a 
great wedge. One reaching the base at the top could 
travel slowly out toward the point. The cliff itself was 
at best but a few feet in width, and the erratic little 
path that wavered out it sometimes disappeared alto- 
gether, and at others clung perilously near the edge of 
the cliff. In the dry, shallow ground on the top there 
was just depth enough to support a few straggling 
huckleberry bushes, and here and there a low 
scrub pine." 

It must have been an Indian with vision made keen 
by some eyrie like Buzzard's Roost who made the 
prophecy as to the coming greatness of Washington, 
according to the story told by George Washington 
Parke Custis. One day in 1755, when George Washing- 
ton was near the junction of the Kanawha and the 
Ohio, an Indian chief sought him and said to him, 
through an interpreter: **The Great Spirit protects 
that man and guards his destinies. He will become the 
chief of nations, and a people yet unborn will hail him 
as the founder of a mighty empire.*' 

Point Pleasant, at Kanawha's mouth, was the scene 
of another incident concerning which there can be no 
question. In 1774 took place the greatest battle ever 
fought with the Indians in West Virginia. These sav- 
ages, on the pretext that the whites intended to cross 

291 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

the Ohio, in the face of treaty obligations, joined forces 
against the colonists. Lord Dunmore, governor of Vir- 
ginia, sent troops across the Alleghenies, by way of 
Staunton, Warm Springs and Charleston, to meet them. 
A monument to those who fell in the desperate battle 
that followed was dedicated on the spot in 1909. 

Point Pleasant is close to the western limits of West 
Virginia, yet between it and the Kentucky line are two 
other towns that have the distinction of being at the 
mouth of West Virginia streams. Huntington guards 
the entrance to the Ohio of the Guyandotte — or simply 
the Guyan, as it is called by those who live on its banks, 
while Kenova points the way of Ohio navigators to Big 
Sandy, which descends more than three hundred feet 
in one hundred miles. The chief branch of Big. Sandy 
is known as the Tug. The records of the days of Indian 
warfare tell of the passage down that stream of a de- 
tachment of Virginia troops. While trying to negotiate 
the Roughs of Tug, a series of treacherous rapids sev- 
eral miles long, the canoes capsized, the men lost their 
supplies, and they were compelled to return home. 

Yet another stream of impartance enters the Ohio 
from the West Virginia mountains. The Little Kana- 
wha, after starting near the Gauley and the Elk, flows 
into quieter country, through the undeveloped coal 
fields of Gilmer and Calhoun Counties, and enters the 
Ohio at Parkersburg, the West Virginia city in im- 
portance second only to Wheeling in the Panhandle. 



CHAPTER XXXIII 

ROMANCE ON AN ISLAND 

WHEN George Washington made his survey- 
ing trip through Western Virginia in 1770 
he was attrapted by a -beautiful island in the 
Ohio Eiver, not far from the present site of Parkers- 
burg, West Virginia, two miles from the mouth of the 
Kanawha Eiver. The upper end lies opposite the 
pretty little village of Belpre, Ohio. To the surveyor 
who had traversed the wilds of the interior the island 
must have seemed a paradise. A recent visitor became 
enthusiastic when he stood on the shore ; he told of the 
landscape of vale and hill to be seen by one who looks 
over the mainland ; the- forest-clad Virginia hills, rising 
south of the .island, ''in places almost palisades"; the 
bluffs crowned by Parkersburg, foraiing the gateway 
to the Little Kanawha; the nearer Virginia hills; the 
broad, beautiful river; and the shapely island rising 
from the water with sloping shores, shaded by tall 
white sycamores, elms and locusts. 

Washington was so charmed by the island that he 
included it in the lands to which he took title. After 
some years, however, it passed from his hands, and in 
1798 one hundred and seventy acres of it were bought 
by Herman Blennerhassett, a wealtliy young Irishman 
who had come to America after marrying Margaret 
Agnew, whose grandfather commanded a British bri- 
gade in the American Revolution. After crossing the 

293 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

AUeghenies to Pittsburg they floated doAvn the Ohio 
River in a flatboat and finally took up their residence on 
a portion of Washington's old river possession — the 
eastern lobe of the spectacle-shaped island, which is 
three and a half miles long and one-half mile wide at 
either end, narrowing in the center to the width of a 
wagon road. 

Soon the pioneers on the West Virginia and Ohio 
shores began to speak with wonder of the transforma- 
tion being made in the river paradise by the Irish 
emigrant. The island became a park. On a summit 
near the upper end, facing so that boats coming down 
stream could see it well, a palatial mansion was built. 
The main house was fifty-two feet long and thirty feet 
wide. On either side were wing-like porticos forty 
feet long; these, with the main building, made a semi- 
circular front of one hundred and ten feet. From the 
front of the green and white house to the water's edge 
sloped the lawn whose grottoes, arbors, hawthorn 
hedges, gravel walks and flower beds containing rare 
imported plants fulfilled the promises made to the visi- 
tor who entered the gateway with its stately 
stone columns. 

In the rear of the house were orchards, fields and 
gardens, cared for by trained men, some of whom were 
brought from England, as were some of the large crops 
of servants in the mansion itself. Slaves were a part 
of the establishment, many of them being needed to care 
for the exquisite furnishings brought from abroad. 

To-day the expenditure of forty thousand dollars 
on a house would not attract attention, but in the day 
when the near-by hills of West Virginia and Ohio were 
a wilderness the establishment was a constant marvel ; 

294 



ROMANCE ON AN ISLAND 

it was like a bit of old Virginia transplanted to 
the frontier. 

The proprietor of the estate was a student who 
dabbled in chemistry, electricity and astronomy. Hours 
were spent in his library or in the music room, where 
he played skillfully on the bass viol and the violoncello. 
Sometimes he practiced medicine when there was need, 
and he could have acted as lawyer for anyone who 
needed his services. A professor of Latin or Greek 
from Harvard College would have found him a kin- 
dred spirit. In fact, anyone who came his way was 
made welcome to the best the island — now known as 
Blennerhassett's Island — could provide. 

Mrs. Blennerhassett was a charming hostess. One 
writer says of her, ' ' History affords but few instances 
where so much feminine beauty, physical endurance, 
and many social graces were combined. ' ' She has been 
called one of the most remarkable women of her time, if 
not of all American history. She was as thoroughly 
educated as her husband, was mistress of graces that 
made her a delightful hostess, and was a lover of hunt- 
ing, boating and walking. 

To this paradise in the Ohio River, northern out- 
post of the luxury and hospitality of Virginia, came 
many adventurers and travelers. Among others came 
Aaron Burr, meditating wild dreams of the conquest 
of Mexico and, perhaps, later of the Ohio and 
Mississippi country and, eventually, of the entire 
American republic. 

From Pittsburg Burr floated by flatboat to the shore 
of Blennerhassett. A hearty welcome was given to him 
as one who had been Vice-President of the United 
States. He remained long enough to win his way into 

295 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

tHe confidence of the hostess and her guileless husband. 
Then he went on down the river, his mind made up that 
Blennerhassett Island would be an admirable center 
for the working out of his plans. His coming had been, 
as Wirt called it, ^'the coming of Satan into Eden." 
His departure was preliminary to the engulfing of the 
Irishman and his wife in the deep waters of conspiracy. 

In 1806 Burr returned to Blennerhassett Island with 
his daughter Theodosia — ^wife of Governor Allston of 
South Carolina — who was conspiring with her father. 

Mrs. Blannerhassett and Theodosia Allston became 
great friends and were soon heartily engaged with the 
two men in preparing for the plan to invade Mexico. 
Boats were built for the transportation of troops, and 
other arrangements were made. Blennerhassett spent 
his entire fortune in the preparation. He was to be the 
Minister to England from the great empire of which 
Burr was to be ruler. 

Suddenly the country was aroused to its peril. Burr 
was arrested, but was later released for lack of proof. 
Then, one by one, the details of the great conspiracy 
were disclosed. President Jefferson by proclamation 
told the country of the danger, while the governors of 
Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, Mississippi and Lou- 
isiana issued proclamations and called out state mili- 
tias. Claiborne, governor of the Territory of Orleans, 
declared martial law. Forts were built at New Orleans 
to repel the conspirators. The militia of Wood County, 
Virginia, were instructed to take possession of Blen- 
nerhassett Island and arrest the proprietor and his 
family. But the proprietor escaped on a wild winter's 
night, avoided the Virginia militia at the mouth of the 
Great Kanawha and floated down the Ohio. Mrs. Blen- 

296 



ROMANCE ON AN ISLAND 

nerhassett remained at the island and witnessed the 
destruction of the park and the house when the militia 
took possession. Later she joined her husband down 
the river. At the mouth of the Cumberland Burr met 
the fugitives with boats and sixty men. Then they went 
on to Bayou Pierre, above Natchez, where he looked for 
aid from General Wilkinson, Commander of the West- 
em United States Troops, but when he arrived there 
he learned that the confederate on whom he had counted 
had betrayed him. The Mississippi militia inter- 
fered with further progress, and the conspirators 
were arrested and put on trial. Yet in court they 
were acquitted. 

In Alabama, on the way to the coast, Burr was again 
arrested and taken to Richmond. Blennerhassett, while 
on his way back to his island, was also arrested and 
carried to Richmond. Later both were acquitted of the 
charge of treason. 

Blennerhassett sought his island, but found it ruined 
by vandals and floods. Another was in possession 
where he had been master. Sorrowfully he made his 
way to Gibsonport, Mississippi, and there lived on a 
cotton plantation until 1819. Two years later he died 
in extreme poverty, while Mrs. Blennerhassett lived 
until 1842. She, too, died in misery. The three sons 
ended their lives unfortunately. 

Some years before her death Mrs. Blennerhassett 
published a volume of poems, of which one was ''The 
Deserted Isle. ' ' Of this two stanzas were : 

The stranger that descends Ohio's stream, 

Charmed with the beauteous prospects that arise, 

Marks the soft isles that, 'neath the glittering beam, 
Dance with the waves and mingle with the skies. 
Sees also, one that now in ruin lies, 

297 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

Which erst, like fairy queen, towered o'er the rest, 
In every native charm, by culture dress'd. 

There rose the seat, where once, in pride of life, 
My eye could mark the queenly river's flow. 

In summer's calmness or in winter's strife, 
Swollen with rain, or battling with the snow. 
Never again, my heart such joy shall know; 

Havoc and ruin, rampant war have pass'd 

Over that isle, with their destroying blast. 



CHAPTER XXXIV 
IN THE PANHANDLE OF WEST VIRGINIA 

BY ancestry West Virginia belongs to the North, 
, for many of her first settlers came from Penn- 
sylvania, Maryland and New Jersey. Geo- 
graphically the state is a part of the South, for it joins 
Kentucky, and it nestles between the Ohio Eiver and 
the backbone of mountains that separate the sources 
of the streams flowing toward the Atlantic and those 
flowing toward the Ohio. Politically it became a North- 
em state in 1863 by a separation from old Virginia that 
had been talked of for two generations. 

This wonderfully rich state, whose great resources 
have hardly been touched, is peculiar in one thing only 
— a contour so odd that it must be the despair of the 
poor children who are asked to outline its borders. Yet 
the boundaries are natural, for the most part ; the one 
exception is the double right angle between the Ohio 
River near Pittsburgh and the headwaters of the 
Potomac near Fairfax, where, in 1746, the surveyors 
of Lord Fairfax planted the ''Fairfax Stone" to mark 
the western limit of his grant for the ''Northern Neck" 
of Virginia. 

Between the Ohio River and the side of the first 
triangle is the oddest feature of this state of eccentric 
borders— the Panhandle, less than one hundred miles 
long and from seven to twenty miles wide; a wedge 
driven between Pennsylvania and Ohio as if to claim 
kinship with these states. 

299 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

No one can profess to know West Virginia unless 
he knows the Panhandle, and no regrets will be the 
sequel of the effort to permit it to reveal its mani- 
fold attractions. 

The passenger on an Ohio River steamboat has a 
fine opportunity to look into the Panhandle along its 
entire western boundary. Not long after leaving New 
Martinsville he is on a line with Pennsylvania's south- 
em limits. There the Panhandle begins. 

For twenty miles or more the river flows sedately 
between the hills of Ohio and the varied landscapes of 
Marshall County, one of the four counties that divide 
the wedge. Then comes the sharp bend known as the 
Devil's Elbow where the pilot of the towboat pushing 
a long line of empty barges upstream must keep his 
wits about him. And only a short distance from the 
bend is Mounds\dlle, the pleasing town that takes its 
name from the ancient burial place of a prehistoric 
people, a great mound whose age is unknown. Some 
years ago a great white oak tree that grew on the top 
of the mound was cut down, and an examination of the 
trunk showed that it was more than five hundred years 
old. How old was the mound when the tree was 
a sapling? 

Originally the mound was ninety feet high, but 
eleven feet of earth was taken from the top by a builder 
who wished to make an observatory. The sides are 
steps, and are covered with trees. 

The first mention of the curiosity was in 1772. In 
1838 the o^vner tunneled horizontally into the mound, 
beginning at the level of the ground. When the tunnel 
was one hundred and eleven feet long the workmen 
came to a vault that had been excavated in the earth 

300 



IN THE PANHANDLE OF WEST VIRGINIA 

before the mound was comnienced. This vault was 
twelve feet long, eight feet wide and seven feet high. It 
was perfectly dry. Originally, upright timbers at the 
sides and the ends had supported cross timbers on which 
the roof rested. This roof was formed of unliewn stone. 
Gradually the timbers decayed, the stones fell and tho 
vault was nearly filled with earth. Examination of the 
timbers showed that they had been shaped by burning; 
there was no evidence of a tool of iron for cutting them, 
but near at hand were bits of charcoal, reminders of the 
painfully slow work of the ancient builders. In the 
vault were two skeletons, one of which was surrounded 
by six hundred and fifty ivory beads. 

Not yet satisfied, the proprietor of the mound be- 
gan to make an excavation from the top, straight down- 
ward. "When half way to the bottom he discovered a sec- 
ond vault, directly over the vault on the ground level. A 
skeleton found there had on it one thousand seven hun- 
dred ivory beads, five hundred sea shells and five copper 
bracelets. One hundred and fifty pieces of isinglass 
were scattered over the body. Near by was a curious 
oval stone bearing three rows of hieroglyphics which 
have never been deciphered. 

For many years after this excavation was made the 
mound was neglected. The observatory on the summit 
was used as a restaurant and dancing pavilion. The 
Fair Grounds were laid out around the mound, and the 
race track encircled the ancient monument. The exca- 
vations were responsible for a sinking of the earth so 
that there was a noticeable depression in the top. Gul- 
lies were cut into the sides by the constant wash- 
ing of the rain, and foot paths were made at random 
on the slopes. 

301 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

Fortunately, public-spirited men and women decided 
that this interesting monument must be preserved. Ap- 
peal was made to the State Legislature, and the law- 
makers were persuaded to purchase the ground and set 
it apart as the possession of the people. 

Nine miles above Moundsville Wheeling perches 
precariously on a narrow flood plain and on an island, 
made by the deposits of streams that enter the Ohio 
from opposite sides, then climbs the slopes that rise 
three hundred feet above the river. From the heights 
the prospect is superb; winding waterway, low-lying 
island, wooded hills on the Ohio shore, and, back toward 
the Pennsylvania line, valleys that turn and twist among 
rugged green slopes. These slopes are guardians over 
the homes of those who, when the day's work in the city 
is done, seek refreshment in Pleasant Valley and Elm 
Grove. But to-day Wheeling thrusts out eager fingers, 
laying hold on these one-time suburbs along the Na- 
tional Eoad that entered the city from Cumberland, 
Maryland, in 1818, fifty-eight years after the first set- 
tlement was made on the site of the city. 

The lofty suspension bridge over which the turnpike 
passed in early days still leaps from the mainland to 
the island, disdainful now of rivals above and below, 
even as many years ago it held serenely aloof from 
the litigation of those who thought it a menace 
to navigation. 

To-day Wheeling is a commercial city of import- 
ance. But there was a time when her fame as a business 
center was overshadowed by her prominence in political 
affairs. Here, on June 13, 1861, was held a convention 
which chose Governor Pierpont to head the Restored 
Government of Virginia. On November 26, 1861, an- 

302 



w- 




CEDAR KOCKS ON "WHEELING CREEK, WEST VIRGINIA 




TAIiLE KU( K, ..tiiO COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA 



IN THE PANHANDLE OF WEST VIRGINIA 

other convention met to constitute what many wished 
to call the State of Kanawha, though the name West 
Virginia was finally chosen. Two years later the Re- 
stored Government removed its capital to Alexandria, 
but "Wheeling continued to be the capital of the new 
state. The historic building occupied as a capital from 
1863 to 1870 has long been used by the Linsley Institute. 

In 1870 Charleston became the capital. The public 
documents and the state officers were transferred down 
the Ohio and up the Kanawha in the steamer Mountain 
Boy. But five years later it was Wheeling's turn to 
send to Charleston a steamer for a transfer of archives 
and the governor and his associates back to the old 
building, which was displaced by a new capitol erected 
by the city, to-day Wheeling's City Hall. There the 
officials remained in peace until 1885, when, the contest 
between Charleston, Martinsburg and Clarksburg for 
the permanent location of the capital having resulted 
in the choice of Charleston, the river was a third time 
called on to assist in the movement. But now a single 
steamer was not sufficient ; two steamers and a barge 
were required for the w^ork whose conclusion caused 
great rejoicing in Charleston. Then Wheeling settled 
down to the life of steady progress that has won fame 
for her. 

From Wheeling it is easy to take splendid highways 
that lead to other historic spots, remarkable for beauty 
of hill and valley, forest and stream. One winding route 
across the Panhandle leads up Glenn's Run, then along 
Short Creek, a stream only four miles long, attractive 
as it is brief. The way is uphill and do^vnhill or thread- 
ing the delightful valleys to Bethany Pike, the oldest 
highway in the neighborhood of WTieeling except the 

303 



SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH 

National Eoad, which stretches away through fertile 
wooded hill and shaded glen to Bethany, the college 
town whose founder planned to call it Buffalo, since 
it was on Buffalo Creek. For a time he dated his letters 
from Buffalo and mailed them at West Liberty, four 
miles distant. Then, learning that a postmaster could 
frank his own mail, he sought and obtained an appoint- 
ment as postmaster at Buffalo, though he had to change 
the name since there was another Buffalo post-office 
in Virginia. 

The traveler among the hills that look so much like 
the slopes of the English lake district is startled at one 
point by the sight of Table Rock, a great boulder bal- 
anced on a pedestal, near the summit of a hill by the 
roadside. Its appearance is unexpected, for it is the 
only formation of the kind to be seen, and it is in a 
position where such a combination of rocks seems out 
of place. Since the days of the Indians this has been a 
landmark for all the countryside. 

Bethany Pike soon joins the National Road. Then 
the way is up Wheeling Creek a short distance from 
the union of Little Wlieeling Creek with the larger 
stream and down a side road. Wheeling Creek flows for 
some distance beneath a rocky precipice, the Cedar 
Rocks, one of the most remarkable of the natural fea- 
tures of the Panhandle. From this point Wheeling 
Creek leads back into the country, still farther from 
the National Road. So the choice route for those who 
wish to continue to see some of the best things offered 
by the Panhandle is back to the main turnpike at Monu- 
ment Place in Elm Grove, named because on the lawn 
stands the monument built in early days to Henry Clay, 
who was thought of as the Father of the Pike. 

304 



IN THE PANHANDLE OF WEST VIRGINIA 

It is difl&cult to see how a short section of road could 
be more fascinating than the twelve miles from Elm 
Grove to West Alexander, on the Pennsylvania line. 
Almost all the way the turnpike is built by the side of 
the creek, deep down between the steep green hills, 
crossing the stalwart stone bridges a century old, cling- 
ing to a narrow shelf between the slope and the water, 
or climbing to some point of vantage far above the thun- 
der of floods that sweep down so suddenly from tribu- 
tary runs. There are places where the way seems dark, 
for the sun is hindered by the dense foliage or the hills 
pressing close on either hand. But the darkness is not 
gloomy here in the passage across the narrow Pan- 
handle. Gloom is not for those who delight to linger 
amid the hills of West Virginia and by the side of her 
rushing monntain streams. 



20 



INDEX 



Abandoned towns: St. Josephs, 
Florida, 171; St. Stephens, Ala- 
bama, 181; Cahaba, Alabama, 
191 

Abilene, Texas, 251 

"Acehawmake," the land beyond 
the water, 43 

Accomac Peninsula, Virginia, 42, 
43 

Adams, John, 62 

Adventure with a wild hog, 152; 
with a mysterious fish, 155; with 
a wild cat, 269 

Alamance, Battle of the, 64, 87 

Alamo, the, San Antonio, Texas, 
248 

Albany, Georgia, 114 

Alexandria, Virginia, 48 

Allen, James Lane, 264 

Altapass, North Carolina, 71 

Andrews' Foimtain, North Caro- 
lina, 81 

Anglers' regulations in Florida, 
153 

Annapolis, Maryland, 42, 48 

Anniston, Alabama, 189, 194 

Appalachian Park Reserve, North 
Carolina, 70 

Apple picking in the Valley of Vir- 
ginia, 22 

Arkansas, pronunciation of word, 
255 

Arlington, Virginia, 48 

Asheville, North Carolina, 70, 75, 
79, 81 

Ashland, at Lexington, Kentucky, 
269 



"Athens of the South" (Nash- 
ville), 210 

Atlanta, Georgia, 98 

Audubon, John J., 235, 238, 244 

Augusta, Georgia, 102 

Augusta Springs, Virginia, 58 

Austin, Stephen F., 249 

Automobile and railroad com- 
pared, 7 

Automobile races at Daytona 
Beach, Florida, 129 

Automobile roads: in Valley of Vir- 
ginia, 21; near Asheville, North 
Carolina, 82; in interior of 
Florida, 163; in Florida Na- 
tional Forest, 170; along the 
Gulf Coast, 222; in Texas, 253; 
in Kentucky, 267; in West Vir- 
ginia, 303 

Azilia, Margravate of, 112 

Bacon's Rebellion, 43, 51 
Balcony Falls, Virginia, 58 
Ballad singing in the Kentucky 

Mountains, 276 
Baltimore, Maryland, and the 

National Road, 35; and the 

Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, 

36 ; the city, 48, 49 
Bandini, Father, and Tontitown, 

Arkansas, 257 
" Barbary Pirates of the West," 

209 
Bardstown, Kentucky, 263 
Bartram, William, 112, 116, 151, 

223 
Baton Rouge, Louisiana, 237 
Bayou Pierre, Mississippi, 225, 

226, 297 

307 



INDEX 



Beach at Daytona, Florida, 129 
Beaufort, South Carolina, 92 
Beaumont, Texas, 243 
Berkeley, Governor of Virginia, 

45 
" Beat Friend " locomotive, 90 
Bethabara, North Carolina, 64 
Bethania, North Carolina, 64 
Big fish in Florida, 154, 155 
Biloxi, Mississippi, 222 
Bimini Bay Rod and Gun Club, 153 
Bird Reservations: Mosquito In- 
let, Florida, 131; Breton Island, 

Mississippi, 222 
Birmingham, Alabama, 194 
Biscayne Bay, Florida, 143 
Blennerhassett, Herman, and 

Aaron Burr, 295 
Blennerhassett, Mrs. Herman, 

295-297 
Blennerhassett Island, in the Ohio, 

293 
Blowing Rock, North Carolina, 72 
Blue Grass Region, Kentucky, 267 
Blue Spring, Albany, Georgia, 114 
Bonaventure Cemetery, Savannah, 

106 
Boom: in Birmingham, Alabama, 

199; in St. Josephs, Florida, 

171; in St. Stephens, Alabama, 

181 
Boone, Daniel, 218, 273, 275, 288 
Boonesboro, Kentucky, 268 
Boone's Burrow, Kentucky, 268 
Boone's Wilderness Road, 70, 210, 

274 
Boundaries, curious, of states, 18, 

42, 261, 299; of counties, 213 
Brandon, Virginia, 52 
Breton Island Bird Reservation, 

Mississippi, 222 
Brovra, George, and the Baltimore 

and Ohio Railroad, 36 
308 



Brown, John, at Harper's Ferry, 

20 
Brunswick, Georgia, 113 
Bruton Parish Church, Virginia, 

51 
Bryan, William Jennings, 145 
Buffalo Bayou, Texas, 244 
Burr, Aaron, 86, 224, 295-297 
Burr, Theodosia (Allston), 86, 296 
Butler, General, and the Dutch 

Gap Canal, 52 
Buzzard Roost, West Virginia, 290 

Cable, George W., 222 

Camphor Plantation in Florida, 

135 
Camping in West Virginia moun- 
tains, 287 
Canals: Chesapeake and Ohio, 17, 
35, 37, 38; " Patowmack," 34; 
Dutch Gap, Virginia, 52; James 
River, 63; James River and 
Kanawha Canal and Railroad, 
54, 171, 288; Santee, 90; 
Suwanee, 117; Drainage canals 
through the Everglades, 149 ; St. 
Marks, Florida, 172; in North 
Alabama, 188; Vicksburg, Mis- 
sissippi, 225; Industrial Canal 
at New Orleans, 230 
Canoeing on Lumbee River, 89 
Cape Charles, Virginia, 45 
Cape Fear, North Carolina, 88 
Cape Henry, Virginia, 45 
Cape Sable, Florida, 156, 164 
Capital, hunting the site of: in 

Florida, 172; in Texas, 249 
Capital, removing the: in Ala- 
bama, 191; in Texas, 249; in 
West Virginia, 303 
Capitol at Richmond, Virginia, 
planned by Thomas Jefferson, 53 



INDEX 



Carnivals: Gasparilla Krewe, at 
Tampa, Florida, 158; Mardi 
Gras at New Orleans, 232 
Carter's Grove, Virginia, 52 
Cartersville, Virginia, 55 
Catawba River, North Carolina, 61 
Caverns: Luray, 23, 24; Saltpetre, 
33; Nicajac, 208; Wonder, 213; 
Mammoth Cave and its neigh- 
bors, 265, 266 ; Where Boone hid 
from the Indians, 273 
Cedar Creek, Virginia, 30 
Cemeteries: in Savannah, 106; iu 
New Orleans, 234 ; National, 205, 
214, 226, 259; Confederate, 19, 
259 
Charleston, South Carolina, 90, 91 
Charleston, West Virginia, 20, 288, 

290, 303 
Charles Town, West Virginia, 20, 

21 
Charlotte, North Carolina, 65 
Charlottesville, Virginia, 30 
Chattanooga, Tenn., 208, 212, 214 
Cheat River difficulties, 281 
Cherokees, last stand of, in North 

Carolina, 74; removal of, 96 
Chesapeake and Ohio Canal, 17, 35, 

37, 38 
Chesapeake Bay, 42, 43, 50 
Chickamauga Battlefield, Georgia, 

214 
Chimneys, The, North Carolina, 73 
Chincoteague, Virginia, 43 
Churches, old, in Charleston, 

South Carolina, 91 
Circular Counties of Tennessee, 

213 
Civil War, places named in connec- 
tion with: Antietam, 19; Valley 
of Virginia, Winchester, Vir- 
ginia, 22; New Market, Vir- 
ginia, 22; Jamestown, Virginia, 



51; Dutch Gap Canal, 52; Oke- 
finokee Swamp, 115; Mobile, 
Alabama, 179; Chattahoochee 
River, Alabama, 190; Selma, 
Alabama, 192; Shiloh, Tennes- 
see, 205; Muscle Shoals, Ala- 
bama, 206, 207; Chickamauga, 
Georgia, 214; Missionary Ridge, 
Tennessee, 214; Vicksburg, Mis- 
sissippi, 226; Hinton, West 
Virginia, 286 ; the beginnings of 
West Virginia, 302 
Clark, George Rogers, 54, 284 
Clarksburg, West Virginia, 284, 

303 
Clay, Henry, 31, 35, 269, 270, 304 
Cleveland, Grover, 152 
Coal mines, early : in Virginia, 54 ; 

discovered in Alabama, 198 
Coast of West Florida, intricate, 

160 
Cobb, Ann, ballad by, 276 
Cocoanut Grove, Florida, 146 
Co-co-lo-bo Cay Club, 154 
Colossal Cavern, Kentucky, 265 
Columbia, South Carolina, 90 
Columbus, Georgia, 111 
Confederacy, Birtliplace of, the, 

191 
Confederate Cemeteries : Sharps- 
burg, Maryland, 19 ; Little Rock, 
Arkansas, 259 
Cornwallis, Lord, 46, 62, 65 
Corpus Christi, Texas, 248 
Cotton gin, invention of, 104 
Cotton mills in North Carolina, 

61, 66, 93 
Court Day in Lexington, Kentucky, 

270 
Covington, Kentucky, 267 
Croatan Indian Reservation, 89 
Cumberland, Maryland, 35, 37 
Cumberland Falls, Kentucky, 273 
309 



INDEX 



Cumberland Gap, 274 

Curious boundaries of states, 18, 

42, 261, 299; of counties, 213 
Currituck Sound, North Carolina, 

85 
Custis, George Washington Parke, 

291 

Dale, Sir Thomas, 52 

Dallas, Texas, 250 

Dandridge, Tennessee, 218 

Danville, Kentucky, 273 

Danville, Virginia, 62 

Dare, Virginia, first English child 

born in America, 87 
Davis, JeflFerson, 252 
Daytona, Florida, 128, 129 
D'Arriola, Don Andres, 168 
De Avilez, Pedro Menendez, 122 
De Bienville, 169, 178, 184 
D'Iberville, 178, 224, 229, 232 
De Luna, Tristan, 168 
De Ofiate, Juan, 253 
De Soto, Hernando, 157, 177, 201, 

257 
Deep River, North Carolina, 61 
Demopolis, Alabama, French set- 
tlement, 184 
Detour at Harper's Ferry, 17; de- 
tours in North Carolina, 61 
Devil's Elbow, in the Ohio, 300 
Dickens, Charles: quoted as to 
Washington, D. C, 47; as to 
Louisville, Kentucky, 262 
"Dimple of Tennessee," 213 
Dinner in the Blue Grass r^ion of 

Kentucky, 271 
Dinsmore, Silas, 181 
Dismal Swamp, Great, Virginia 

and North Carolina, 84 
Dixie Highway, 147, 267 
Donelson, Colonel John, 209 
310 



Donelson, Eachel (Mrs. Andrew 

Jackson), 212 
Douglas, Jessamine, Kentucky 

heroine, 272 
Dowdy, Betsy, heroism of, 85 
" Druid City, The," 186 
Dulcimer, the, described, 276 
Dutch Gap Canal, Virginia, 52 

Earthquake of 1811, 202, 255 
East Coast of Florida, 120-155 
East Tennessee, Valley of, 71 
Eastern Shore of Maryland and 

Virginia, 42 
Eatonton, Georgia, described, 110 
Ebenezer, Georgia, silk culture 

attempted at, 104 
Edenton, North Carolina, 85 
Elkhorn City, Kentucky, 70 
El Paso, Texas, 253 
Ensley, Alabama, 195, 200 
Eureka Springs, Arkansas, 258 
Everglades, the, 148 

Fairfax Stone, the, 299 

Falls of the Ohio, 261 

Farragut, Admiral, 179 

Featherstonhaugh, G. W., quoted, 
240 

Fishing: at Mosquito Inlet Bird 
Reservation, Florida, 131; in 
Florida, 151-154, 158; on 
Tampa Bay, 160; on Mobile Bay, 
180; on Gulf Coast, 222; in 
Texas, 247; in Arkansas, 256 

Flagler, Henry M-, 134, 143 

Flagler, Mrs. Henry M., 164 

" Flagler's Folly," 138 

Flatboat transportation in Ala- 
bama, diflSculties of, 190, 208 

Fleming, Tarleton, 56 

Flomaton Junction, Alabama, early 
railroad building at, 168 



INDEX 



Florida Keys, building East Coast 
Railroad across, 138-141 

Flute and river, comparison made 
by Sidney Lanier, 108 

Fort Barrancas, Pensacola, Flor- 
ida, 168 

Fort Marion, St. Auguatine, 
Florida, 125, 126 

Fort Moultrie, Charleston, South 
Carolina, 91 

Fort Myers, Florida, 160 

Fort Smith, Arkansas, 258 

Fort Sumter, Charleston, 91 

Fort Worth, Texas, 250 

Fountain of Youth, St. Augustine, 
Florida, 125 

Fox, John, 275 

Frankfort, Kentucky, 267, 269 

Franklin, Benjamin, 62 

Franklin, State of, 217, 218 

Frederick, Maryland, 18 

Fredericksburg, Virginia, 46 

French settlers in Alabama, 
early, 184 

Gadsden, Alabama, 189 
Galveston, Texas, 245, 246 
Game: in Florida, 152; in Louisi- 
ana, 236, 237; in Texas, 243, 
247; in Arkansas, 258 
Gaps in West Virginia, along 

Potomac, 279 
Gasparilla, the pirate, 158, 160 
Geology of the cave region of Vir- 
ginia, 33; of Mammoth Cave 
region in Kentucky, 265; in 
West Virginia, 279, 284 
Georgetown, South Carolina, 88 
Gethsemane Abbey, Kentucky, 264 
Gibsonport, Mississippi, 297 
Gilmer, Frank, and iron ore in 

Alabama, 196 
Glynn, Marshes of, in Georgia, 113 



Gold, discovered in North Georgia, 

96; in Alabama, 189 
Goold, William L., and coal in 

Alabama, 198 
Gorden, Captain Harry, quoted, 

231 
Grafton, West Virginia, 285 
Grant, General U. S., 28, 206 
Graphite in Alabama, 189 
Great Falls, Maryland, 34, 38 
Greene, General Nathanael, 62 
Greene, Mrs. Nathanael, enter- 
tains Eli Whitney, 104 
Greeneville, Tennessee, 217 
Green Cove Springs, Florida, 167 
Guilford Court House, North 

Carolina, 62 
Gulf Coast resorts, 221 
Gullies at Milledgeville, Georgia, 

111 
Gimston Hall, Virginia, 47 
Guntersville, Alabama, 188, 215 

Hagerstown, Maryland, 18 

Hall, Captain Basil, explores 

Georgia, 112 
Hampton Roads, Virginia, 50 
Hancock, Maryland, tunnel at, 41 
Harpers Ferry, Virginia, 17, 20, 

22, 34, 36, 37, 278 
Harris, Joel Chandler, 93, 110 
Harrisonburg, Virginia, 27 
Harrod, Captain James, 273 
Harrodsburg, Kentucky, 273 
Hatteras, Cape, 85, 86 
Hawk's Nest, West Virginia, 287 
Heights of Southern Appa- 
lachian Mountains, 69 
" Jlell-fer-Sartain " Creek, Ken- 
tucky, 275 
Hemans, Mrs. Felicia, quoted, 119 
Hendersonville, North Carolina, 
77, 79 

311 



INDEX 



Henrico, Virginia, 43, 52 
Henry, Patrick, 53, 55 
Hermitage, The, at Nashville, 211 
Hero of the Howard College fire, 

185 
Herrick, Francis Hobart, 239 
Hiawassee, legend of, 95 
Hickory Nut Gap, 69, 78 
High Bridge, Kentucky, 272 
Hinton, West Virginia, 286 
Hobuckintopa, Alabama, 180 
Honesty in North Carolina, 79 
Hornaday, William T., quoted, 236 
" Hornet's Nest, The," 66 
Hospitality, Southern, 103, 104, 
1 271 

Hot Springs, Arkansas, 259 
Hot Springs of Virginia and West 

Virginia, 59 
Houston, Sam, 30, 217, 218, 245 
Houston, Texas, 243 
Hovey, Horace C, 24 
Howells, William Dean, 106 
Hueco Tanks, Texas, 253 
Huntington, West Virginia, 292 
Huntsville, Alabama, 188 
Hydro-electric power development 
in North Carolina, 60, 66; at 
Tallulah Falls, Georgia, 95; at 
Muscle Shoals, Alabama, 187, 
206-208; on Coosa and Talla- 
poosa in Alabama, 189; Tallaa- 
see Falls, Alabama, 190 

Indians, adventures with, 209, 283" 
Indian legends of the rivers, 95, 

290 
Indians: Monacans, 30; Shawnees, 
30; Powhatans, 30; Nassawat- 
tox, 44; Cherokees, 74, 80, 95, 
96 ; Croatans, 89 ; Tomo Chach'i, 
105; Creeks, 111; Seminoles, 
116, 120, 142, 150, 152, 158; 
312 



Tuscaloosas, 177 ; Muscogees, 
190; on Tennessee River, 208 

Ingraham Highway in Florida, 164 

Inside Waterway, the, from New 
York to Miami, 121, 130, 150 

Intercoastal Canal, 230 

Interdigitation of rivers of South 
Carolina and Georgia, 95. 

Iron and Steel in Alabama, 189, 
194 

Iron and steel furnaces in Vir- 
ginia, 54; in Alabama, 194 

Iron works, first in Alabama, 187 

Jackson, Andrew, 70, 211 
Jackson, Mrs. Andrew, 212 
Jackson, Mississippi, 226 
Jackson,, General Thomas J. 

(Stonewall), 27, 28, 54, 284 
Jacksonville, Florida, 114, 120 
James River Canal, 53 
James To^vn, Virginia, 43, 51, 52 
Jamestown Island, Virginia, 50 
Jefferson, Peter, 55, 57 
Jefferson, Thomas, 20, 21, 30, 35, 

51, 63, 55, 56, 57, 58, 261, 296 
Jefferson's Rock, 20 
Jenings, Jonathan, adventure of, 

with Indians, 209 
Johnson City, Tennessee, 70 
.Johnston, General Albert Sidney, 

206 
Johnston, General Joseph E., 252 
Jonesboro, Tennessee, 218 

Kanawha Falls, West Virginia, 
287 

Kanawha, State of, 303 

Keats, George, 262 

Keats, John, 262 

Kenmore, Fredericksburg, Vir- 
ginia, 46 

Kenova, West Virginia, 54, 292 



INDEX 



Kerrville, Texas, 251 

Key West, Florida, 121, 137, 141 

King, William Rufus, 192 

King's Mountain, Battle of, 66, 219 

Kingston, Tennessee, 216 

Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, 86 

Knoxville, Tennessee, 216 

Konnahecta, Vale of, 76 

Lafitte, Jean, 245 
Lake Charles, Louisiana, 241 
Lake Drummond, Virginia, 84 
Lake Worth, Florida, 135 
Lakes of interior Florida, 163, 166 
Lanier, Sidney, 98, 108, 110, 113 
La Salle, Sieur de, 245, 247 
Leaning Rock, North Carolina, 72 
Lee, Light Horse Harry, 21, 46 
Lee, General Robert E., 19, 28, 46, 

55, 252 
Lee, Colonel Thomas, 46 
Legend of the origin of Elk River, 

West Virginia, 290 
Legend of Nacoochee, 97 
Lewis, Betty, sister of George 

Washington, 46 
Lexington, Kentucky, 268 
Lexington, Virginia, 27 
Little Rock, Arkansas, 257, 259 
Llano Estacado, Texas, 251 
Locomotives, early: Best Friend, 

90 ; Western Star, 270 
Louisville, Kentucky, 261 
Lumbee River, canoeing on, 89 
Luray Caverns, Virginia, 23 
Lyell, Charles, travels in America 

quoted, 103, 111 
Lyman, Captain Thaddeus, 225 
Lyman Mandamus, 225 
Lynchburg, Virginia, 54 

McClellan, General George B., 19 
McConnell, Alexander, adventure 
with Indian, 268 



McKinney, John, and a wildcat, 

269 
McMinnville, Tennessee, 213 
Macon, Georgia, 108, 110 
" Madeline " and Aaron Burr, 224 
Madison, Dolly, 48 
Madison, James, 21 
Mammoth, relics of, 223 
Mammoth Cave, Kentucky, 265 
Mansions: Harewood, Charles 
Town, West Virginia, 21 ; Mor- 
dington, Charles Town, West 
Virginia, 21 ; Shadwell, Virginia, 
30; Moore House and Nelson 
House, Yorktown, Virginia, 46; 
Kenmore and Fredericksburg, 
Virginia, 46; Stratford, Vir- 
ginia, 46; Mount Vernon, Vir- 
ginia, 46; Gunston Hall, Vir- 
ginia, 47; Octagon House, 
Washington, D. C, 48; Carter's 
Grove, Virginia, 52; Brandon, 
Virginia, 52; Shirley, Virginia, 
52; Westover, Virginia, 52; in 
Richmond, Virginia, 53; Tucka- 
hoe, Virginia, 55; Oakland, Vir- 
ginia, 55; Monticello, Virginia, 
56; in Charleston, South Caro- 
lina, 91; Turnwold, Georgia, 
111; The Hermitage at Nash- 
ville, Tennessee, 211; Oakley, 
Louisiana, 238; Ashland, Lex- 
ington, Kentucky, 269; Blenner- 
hassett's, 294 
Manufacturer's Record, quoted, 

134, 140 
Marble of Alabama, story of, 176 
Mardi Gras at New Orleans, 232 
Marion, General Francis, 90 
Marriage formula of Captain 

Shaumberg, 193 
Marshall, the, last of the canal 
packets, 54 

313 



INDEX 



Martinsburg, West Virginia, 303 
Mason, George, 47 
Massanutten, Mount, road over, 23 
Massanutten National Forest, 23 
Matagorda Island, Texas, 247 
Meander ings of the Mississippi, 

238, 261 
Mecklenburg, Declaration of Inde- 
pendence, 65 
Memphis, Tennessee, 201 
Mianai Anglers' Club, 153 
Miami Beach, Florida, 146 
Miami, Florida, 136, 137, 142 
Milledgeville, Georgia, 111 
Mills, Enos A., quoted, 228 
Milner, John T., has vision of Bir- 
mingham, 196 ; builds a railroad, 
197 
Minorcans at New Smyrna, 

Florida, 132 
Missionary Ridge, Tennessee, 214 
Missions, Spanish, in Texas, 248 
Mississippi, mouths of the, 228 
Mitchell, Elisha, 83 
Mobile, Alabama, 175 
Moccasin Bend, on Tennessee River, 

214 
Monroe, Fort, Virginia, 45 
Monroe, James, 51 
Montgomery, Alabama, 191 
" Monticello, Sage of," 33, 57 
Monti cello, Virginia, home of 

Thomas Jefferson, 56 
Moore House, Yorktown, Virginia, 

46 
Moore's Creek, " first victory of 

Revolution," 87 
Moravians in North Carolina, 63, 

64 
Mordington, Charles Town, West 

Virginia, 21 
Morgan, Morgans, 278 
314 



Morgantown, West Virginia, 280, 

283 
Mosquito Inlet Bird Reservation, 

Florida, 131 

Mosquito Inlet Light, Florida, 131 

Motor Boating on Santa Rosa 

Sound, 170; on Mobile Bay, 180 

Mound-builders in Alabama, 186, 

192; in West Virginia, 300 
Moundsville, West Virginia, 300 
Mountains: Blue Ridge, 17, 68, 71; 
Massanutten, 23 ; Peaks of Otter, 
31; Apple Orchard, 58; Thunder 
Hill, 58; Unakas, 68, 215, 217; 
Great Smoky, 68, 73, 218; Bal- 
sam 69, 74; Roan, 69, 71; 
Grandfather, 69, 71, 72; Clinch, 
70, 218; Pilot Mountain, 71; Old 
Humpback, 71; Dunvegan, 72; 
Tryon, 72; Clingman's Dome, 74; 
Bald, 74; Cowie, 74; Nantahala, 
74; the Balds, 76; Richland Bal- 
sams, 76; Toxaway, 77; Mitchell, 
77; Old Whitesides, 77; Rabun, 
77; Looking Glass, 78; Black, 
80; Balsam Cone, 81; Black 
Brothers, 81; Celo, 81; Kitta- 
zuma, 81; Yonah, 97; Cumber- 
land, 208; Lookout, 208, 214; 
Holston, 219; Guadalupe Peak, 
242 ; Ozarks, 256, 258 ; Arkansas, 
258; King's Mountain, 273; of 
West Virginia, 284 
Mount Vernon, Virginia, 46 
Mouths of the Mississippi, 228 
Muir, John, 102, 106, 220, 264, 265 
Munroe, Kirk, 146 
Murfreesboro, Tennessee, 213 
Muscle Shoals, Alabama, 187, 206 

Nacoochee, legend of, 97 
Narvaez, Pamfilo de, 168 



INDEX 



Nashborough (Nashville), Tennes- 
see, 210 

Natchez, Mississippi, 223 

Natchez Trace, pioneer road, 226 

National Cemeteries: at Shiloh, 
Tennessee, 205; at Chattanooga, 
Tennessee, 214; at Little Rock, 
Arkansas, 259 

National Forests : Massanutten, 
23; Shenandoah, 26; Natural 
Bridge, 58; Boone, 70; Mount 
Mitchell, 70, 82; Nantahala, 70; 
Pisgah, 70, 78, 82 ; Florida, 169 ; 
in Lawrence County, Alabama, 
186 

National Parks: Hot Springs, Ar- 
kansas, 259; proposed, Luray 
Caverns, Virginia, 24; Natural 
Bridge, Virginia, 31; Springs of 
Virginia, 59; Paradise Key, 
Florida, 164; Mammoth Cave, 
Kentucky, 266 

National Road, 35, 39, 304 

Natural Bridge, Virginia, 29, 33, 
57 

Natural Bridge at Lost Cove, Ten- 
nessee, 214 

Natural Bridge National Forest, 
58 

Natural gas in West Virginia, 289 

Nelson House, Yorktown, Virginia, 
46 

New Martinsville, West Virginia, 
300 

New Orleans, 229 

New River Canyon, West Virginia, 

286 
New Smyrna, Florida, 132 
Newport News, Virginia, 45 
"Niagara of the South" (Muscle 

Shoals, Alabama), 208 
Nicajac Cave, on the Tennessee 
River, 208 



Nicajac Trail, 2lS 

Night in Florida, 128 

Nitrate Plants at Muscle Shoals, 
Alabama, 207 

Norfolk, Virginia, 45 

Northwestern Turnpike in Vir- 
ginia, 279 

Novel reading tabooed, 205 

Nuttall, Thomas, quoted, 258 

Oakland, Maryland, 280 

Oakland, Virginia, home of Robert 
E. Lee, 55 

Oakley, at St. Francisville, Louisi- 
ana, 238 

Octagon House, Washington, 48 

Oglethorpe, General, and silk cul- 
ture, 104 

Oil in Texas, 243; in West Vir- 
ginia, 289 

Okeechobee, Lake, 148 

Okefinokee Swamp, 115 

Old Point Comfort, Virginia, 43, 45 

Oldest American family, 44 

Oldest house in St. Augustine, 124 

Olive growing, experiments in, 185 

Ormond, Florida, 135 

Otter, Peaks of, 31 

Outlaws on Tennessee River, 208 

Oyster beds, Louisiana gains title 
to, 221 

Oysters in New Orleans, 233 

Paducah, Kentucky, 203 
Paint Rock, North Carolina, 73 
Palm Beach, Florida, 136 
Panhandle of West Virginia, 299 
Panmure, Fort, at Natchez, Mis- 
sissippi, 224 
Paradise Key, Florida, beauty of, 

165, 166 
Parkersburg, West Virginia, 285, 
292, 293 

315 



INDEX 



Pasquotank, North Carolina, 85 
Pass Christian, Mississippi, 222 
Patowmack Canal Company, 34 
Patti, Adelina, 233 
Pensacola, Florida, 168 
Pharuses, twin, in Florida, 161 
Phosphate mining in Florida, 159 
Pilot for Inside Waterway, 121, 

122 
Pirates : Qasparilla, 158 ; " Bar- 

bary Pirates of the West," 209; 

Jean Lafitte, 245 
Pirrie, James, 238 
Pirrie, Miss, 238 
Pittsburgh Landing, Tennessee, 

205 
"Pittsburgh of the South" (Bir- 
mingham), 192, 194 
Plant, H. B., 157 
Point Comfort, Virginia, 44 
Point of Rocks, Maryland, 36 
.Point Pleasant, Ohio, Indian battle 

at, 291 
Polk, James K., 211 
Ponce de Le6n, 122, 124, 125, 168 
Pontchartrain, Lake, Louisiana, 

236 
Port Gibson, Mississippi, 224 
Portsmouth, Virginia, 45 
Potomac River, 17, 20, 34, 38, 40, 

46, 278, 279 
Powell, William, 23 
Powell's Fort Valley, 23 
Prehistoric ruins, near Bardstown, 

Kentucky, 263; at Lexington, 

Kentucky, 268 
Princess Anne, Maryland, 42 
Promontorum. Tremendum, 88 

Rabbit drive on site of Birming- 
ham, Alabama, 198 
Rabun Gap, Georgia, 94 

316 



Railroad and automobile com- 
pared, 7 

Railroad building, early : at Floma- 
ton Junction, Alabama, 168; at 
St. Josephs, Florida, 171; at 
Apalachee Bay, Florida, 172; in 
Alabama, 187, 197 

Railroad difficulties in Florida, 162 

Railroads : Baltimore and Ohio, 36, 
280, 285 ; James River Canal and 
Railroad, 54; Chesapeake and 
Ohio, 54, 286; Southern, 62, 188; 
Carolina, Clinchfield and Ohio, 
70; Western North Caro- 
lina, 70; Linville River, 70; 
Mount Mitchell, 82 ; South Caro- 
lina, 90; Western and Atlantic, 
98; Atlantic Coast Line, 117; 
Florida East Coast, 134; Queen 
and Crescent, 184; Tuscumbia 
and Decatur, 187; Southern 
Pacific, 242; Louisville and 
Nashville, 263 

Raleigh, Sir Walter, 88, 89 

Randolph, Thomas, 55 

Randolph, Thomas Mann, 55 

Red River Raft, 240 

Reelfoot Lake District, Tennessee, 
202 

Regulators of the Alamance, North 
Carolina, 87 

Resources of the South, 5, 6 

Revolutionary War, places named 
in connection with, 23, 43, 48, 
55, 62, 64, 65, 66, 85, 87, 89, 91, 
219; South's part in: 62, 65, 68; 
declaration of patriots in West 
Virginia, 286 

Richmond, Virginia, 23, 50, 52, 53 

Rivalry of Guntersville, Alabama, 
and Chattanooga, Tennessee, for 
a railroad, 215 



INDEX 



Rivers: Potomac, 17, 18, 19, 20, 
34, 38, 40, 46, 278, 279; Shenan- 
doah, 17, 21, 22, 31, 63, 279; 
James, 30, 43, 60; Monongahela, 

34, 281; Cheat, 34, 280; Ohio, 

35, 54, 209, 300; Patuxent, 42, 
49; Rappahannock, 46; Pataps- 
co. 48; Choptank, 49; Nomini, 
49; Wicomico, 49; Yiocomico, 
49; Piankatank, 49; Appomat- 
tox, 52 ; Kanawha, 54, 288 ; Yad- 
kin, 61, 72; Catawba, 61, 80; 
Deep, 61 ; Dan, 62; Susquehanna, 
63; Nolichucky, 70; Doe, 70; 
Linville, 70, 72 ; Watauga, 70, 72 ; 
Holston, 71, 209; New, 72, 286; 
Peedee, 72; French Broad, 73, 
216; Little Tennessee, 74; Tuck- 
aseegee, 74; Nantahala, 74; Tox- 
away, 77; Swannanoa, 81; Cape 
Fear, 88; Lumbee, 88, 89; San- 
tee, 90; Edisto, 92; Savannah, 
92, 94, 101 ; Combahee, 92 ; Chat- 
tahoochee, 93, 111; Chattooga, 
94 ; Oconee, 94, 111; Keowee, 94 ; 
Seneca, 94; Savannah, 94, 105; 
Tugaloo, 94; Tallulah, 95; Oc- 
mulgee, 108; Altamaha, 112; 
Flint, 114; St. Mary's, 114; Ock- 
lockonee, 115; Withlacoochee, 
115; Satilla, 115; St. Johns, 120, 
135, 167; River of Dolphins, 
122; Matanzas, 122, 127; Hali- 
fax, 128; Miami, 142; Caloo- 
sahatchee, 149, 153; Suwanee, 
156; Manatee, 160; Miakka, 
160; Tomoka, 166; Ocklawaha, 
166; Silver, 166; Alabama, 179; 
Tombigbee, 179, 180, 183; Black 
Warrior, 182, 183; Tallapoosa, 
183; Coosa, 183, 189, 190, 191; 
Tennessee, 187, 203; Mississippi, 
201, 223, 237; Cumberland, 209, 



273; Cancy Fork, 213; Clinch, 
215; Pelissippi, 215; Pearl, 221; 
Yazoo, 225; Red, 239; Sabine, 
241; Calcasieu, 241; Neches, 
243; Nueces, 248; Colorado, 
249; Llano, 251; Guadalupe, 
251; Medina, 252; Pecos, 253; 
Rio Grande, 253; PeSasco, 254; 
Ruidoso, 254; Little, 256; St. 
Francis, 256 ; Black, 256 ; White, 
256; Green, 264; Kentucky, 267, 
272; Tug Fork, 278, 292; Big 
Sandy, 278; Tygart's, 283; 
Greenbrier, 286; Gauley, 287; 
Elk, 290; Guyan, 292 

Robertson, James, founder of Nash- 
ville, Tennessee, 209 

Romney, West Virginia, 279 

Roosevelt, Theodore, and houses on 
the James, 52; letter from the 
Tensas River Country, Louisi- 
ana, 236; and The Hernutage, 
212 

Rosenberg, Henry, 246 

"Roughs of Tug," in West Vir- 
ginia, 292 

Roustabouts on river steamer, 204 

Rowan County, North Carolina, 65 

Royal Palm State Park, Florida, 
164 

Royall, Mrs. Annie, 111 

Ruins: at New Smyrna, Florida, 
133; at St. Stephens, Alabama, 
182 

Rumsey, James, steamboat of, 19 

St. Augustine, Florida, 120, 122, 

123, 133, 134 
St. Francis Basin, Arkansas, 201 
St. Francisville, Louisiana, 238 
6t. Helena Sound, South Carolina, 

92 

317 



INDEX 



St. John's Church, Hampton, Vir- 
ginia, 45 

St. John's Church, Richmond, Vir- 
ginia, 53 

St. Josephs, Florida, 171 

St. Marks, Florida, 172 

St. Petersburg, Florida, 158 

St. Stephens, Alabama, 181 

Salisbury, Maryland, 42 

Salt Licks, in Tennessee, 210; in 
West Virginia, 289 

San Antonio, Texas, 248 

San Antonio Trail, 249 

Sanford, Florida, 167 

Santa Rosa Sound by Motor Boat, 
170 

Sapphire Country, the, 68 

Savage, " the oldest American 
family," 44 

Sea Island Cotton, 92 

Sea Islands, South Carolina, 92 

Seabreeze, Florida, 128, 129 

Selma, Alabama, 192 

Seneca Falls, Maryland, 34 

Sewanee, Tennessee, 213 

Shades Mountain at Birmingham, 
195 

Shadwell, Virginia, home of Jef- 
ferson, 30 

Shaumberg, Captain, and his mar- 
riage formula, 193 

Sheffield, Alabama, 194 

Shenandoah Falls, Virginia, 34 

Shenandoah National Forest, 26 

Shepherdstown, West Virginia, 19 

Shirley, Virginia, 52 

Shreve, Captain, and the Red 
River raft, 241 

Shreveport, Louisiana, 241 

Skinner, General William, 85 

Smith, Captain John, 45 

Soco Indian Reservation, North 
Carolina, 75 

318 



Soutli, resources of: 5, 6 

Spangenburg, Bishop, 63 

Spartanburg, South Carolina, 93, 
94 

Sponge fishermen of Florida, 159 

Springs: of Virginia and West 
Virginia, 59; at Albany, 
Georgia, 114; near Florida line, 
114; at Stomawa, Florida, 158; 
Silver Springs, Florida, 167; 
Chipola Spring, Florida, 173; 
Wakulla, Florida, 174; Seven 
Himdred, Texas, 251 ; Mammoth, 
Arkansas, 255; Hot Springs, 
Arkansas, 259 ; Webster Springs, 
West Virginia, 290 

Stamp Act annulled in North Caro- 
lina, 88 

"Star-Spangled Banner," 186 

Staunton, Virginia, 22, 27, 29 

Steamboat, early, on Potomac, 19; 
trials in Kentucky, 269 

Stratford, Virginia, 46 

Sugar cane in Florida, 150; in 
Louisiana, 237 

Sunken Lands of Arkansas, 255 

Swannanoa Gap, 80 

Sycamore Shoals, Tennessee, 219 

Taft, William Howard, quoted, 66 
Tallahassee, Florida, 173 
Tallulah Falls, Georgia, 94 
Tamiami Trail, 160, 164 
Tampa, Florida, 157 
Tarpon fishing, in Florida, 153 
Taxation protests against, 44, 64, 

86, 87; primitive payments, 217 
Taylor, Alf and Bob, 71 
Taylor, Bayard, 265 
Tennessee Coal and Iron Company, 

200 
Texas, size of, 242 



INDEX 



Thanet, Octave (Alice French) 
quoted, 256 

Thomas, Philip, and the Baltimore 
and Ohio Railroad, 36 

Tliompson, Captain Charles, and 
his big fish, 155 

Tidewater, Virginia, 46 

Toccoa Falls, Georgia, 95 

Todd, Dorothy, 21 

Tomo Chachi, King of Yamacraw, 
105 

Toxaway, Lake, North Carolina, 77 

Treason of Aaron Burr, 296 

Tropical Vegetation: at Daytona, 
Florida, 130; at Cocoanut Grove, 
Florida, 145; in the Everglades, 
150; Royal Palm State Park, 
164; on Ocklawaha River, 166 

Tryon, Governor of North Caro- 
lina, 64, 87 

Tsali, Cherokee brave, story of, 75 

Tulane, Paul, 234 

Tulane University, 234 

Tullahoma, Tennessee, 213 

Tunnel-building on the Baltimore 
and Ohio Railroad, 285 

Turnbull, Doctor, at New Smyrna, 
Florida, 133 

Tuscaloosa, Alabama, 186 

Tyler, John, 51 

University of the South, 213 
University of Virginia, 57 
University of West Virginia, 283 

Valley of Virginia, 21, 22, 71 
Vicksburg, Mississippi, 225 
Virginia, South (North Carolina), 

84 
Virginia, Valley of, 21, 22, 71 

Wachovia, North Carolina, 63 

Waco, Texas, 250 

Waldens' Ridge, Tennessee, 216 



War of 1812 referred to, 33, 48, 236 

Washington and Lee University, 
Lexington, Virginia, 28 

Washington College, Lexington, 
Virginia, 28, 56 

Washington, D. C, 36, 47 

Washington, George : purchases 
land at Harpers Ferry, 20; and 
Powell's Fort Valley, 23; at 
Natural Bridge, 34; and routes 
to the West, 34; and the Na- 
tional Road, 35 ; home of mother 
of, 46; home and haunts of, 46 
47 ; and Richmond, Virginia, 53 
in West Virginia, 280, 282, 293 
Indian prophecy concerning, 291 

Washington, Mrs. Martha Dan- 
dridge, 218 

Washington Monument, Alabama 
marble in the, 177 

Watauga, settlement, 219 

Waycross, Georgia, 115 

Wesley, John, in Savannah, 106; 
on St. Simon's Island, 113 

West, Edward, early steamboat 
navigator in Kentucky, 269 

West Coast of Florida, 156 

" Western Star," early locomotive, 
270 

Westover, Virginia, 52 

West Virginia, beginnings of, 302 

Wheeling, West Virginia, 35, 292, 
302, 303 

Whitefield, George, in Savannah, 
106 

Whitney, Eli, and the cotton gin, 
104 

William and Mary College, Vir- 
ginia, 51 

Williamsburg, Virginia, 30, 51, 85 

Wilmington, North Carolina, 87, 



Winchester, Virginia, 22 



319 






INDEX 

WinBton-Salem, North Carolina, " Wren's Nest, The," Memorial to 

63, 64 Joel Chandler Harris, 100 

Winyah Bay, South Carolina, 88 Wyeth, John Allen, quoted, 215 
Wirt, William, quoted, 52, 296 

Women, patriotic, in Revolution, Yadkin River, North Carolina, 61 

65, 86; and Royal Palm State Yonahlossee Road, North Carolina, 

Park, 164; and The Hermitage, 72 

212 Yorktown, Virginia, 43, 46 



320 



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